
Class J*£l£ZJ. 
Book__ JLS 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



JAMES T. FIELDS 



BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES AND PERSONAL 
SKETCHES 



WITH 



UNPUBLISHED FRAGMENTS AND TRIBUTES 
FROM MEN AND WOMEN OF LETTERS 




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BOSTON 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

€J)e JSitoo#itre $te£& CamM&ge 

1881 



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Copyright, 1881, 
By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 

All rights reserved. 



The Riverside Press, Cambridge : 
Stereotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Co. 



H n'y a pour les dmes d' autre solitude que celle de Voubli." 



IN MEMORY. 

As a guest who may not stay- 
Long and sad farewells to say 
Glides with smiling face away, 

Of the sweetness and the zest 
Of thy happy life possessed 
Thou hast left us at thy best. 

Warm of heart and clear of brain, 
Of thy sun-bright spirit's wane 
Thou hast spared us all the pain. 

Now that thou hast gone away, 
What is left of one to say 
Who was open as the day? 

What is there to gloss or shun ? 
Save with kindly voices none 
Speak thy name beneath the sun. 

Safe thou art on every side, 
[Friendship nothing finds to hide, 
Love's demand is satisfied. 

Over manly strength and worth, 
At thy desk of toil, or hearth, 
Played the lambent light of mirth, - 

Mirth that lit but never burned; 
All thy blame to pity turned; 
Hatred thou hadst never learned. 

Every harsh and vexing thing 
A.t thy home-fire lost its sting; 
Where thou wast was always spring. 



IN MEMORY. 

And thy perfect trust in good, 
Faith in man and womanhood, 
Chance and change and time withstood. 

Small respect for cant and whine, 
Bigot's zeal and hate malign, 
Had that sunny soul of thine. 

But to thee was duty's claim 
Sacred, and thy lips became 
Reverent with one holy Name. 

Therefore, on thy unknown way 
Go in God's peace ! We who stay 
But a little while delay. 

Keep for us, friend, where'er 
Thou art waiting, all that here 
Made thy earthly presence dear. 

Something of thy pleasant past 
On a ground of w-onder cast, 
In the stiller waters glassed ! 

Keep the human heart of thee : 
Let the mortal only be 
Clothed in immortality. 

And when fall o«r feet as fell 

Thine upon the asphodel, 

Let thy old smile greet us well, 

Proving in a world of bliss 
What we fondly dream in this, — 
Love is one with holiness ! 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



NOTE. 



It will be observed that great care has been 
taken in these pages to omit, so far as possible, 
all personal mention of living friends. Some of 
those only who have passed beyond this narrow 
scope and vision have been recalled as making 
part of a life not to be altogether forgotten. 

A few poems and extracts from letters, where 
friends may speak for themselves, have been in- 
corporated as properly forming a part of this 
memorial. 



BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 



PERSONAL SKETCHES. 



Portsmouth, New Hampshire's only seaport, 
is one of the few places in America touched with 
the hue of decay. During the Revolution, when 
our humble navy consisted only of seven ships, 
New Hampshire furnished one from the Ports- 
mouth navy yard. But the city reached " the 
highest point of all" her "greatness" during the 
latest five years of the last century, and a quaint, 
fleeting glimpse of the old home world that so 
called " greatness " was. Calm after storm, the 
calm of closing day, was already brooding over 
the town when the boy who is the subject of this 
memoir was born, in 1816. His father was a 
ship-master, "much respected," writes one of his 
town's-people, " by all who knew him." His early 
death at sea left his widow with the care of his 
two little sons, and the ship-yards and wharves, 
attractive to every boy, became places of danger 

and distress in her eyes. The rapid Piscataqua, 
1 



2 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

where the older and more adventurous boys loved 
to launch their boats and be carried down to the 
great sea, was forbidden to them. There was, 
however, no disobedience to the maternal author- 
ity. James used to say, as it is quoted of Barry 
Cornwall, " My mother was simply the kindest 
and tenderest mother in the world." 

The loss one Sunday afternoon of summer, in a 
sudden squall, of a sailing boat containing a party 
of his school fellows and one of their teachers, — a 
company James to his boyish sorrow had been for- 
bidden to join, — was held up to him long afterward 
as a righteous judgment on Sabbath-breaking as 
well as an end to be looked for when boys entered 
sailing boats. He never forgot this incident, re- 
ferring often in later years to the grief which over- 
spread the whole school at the loss of their beloved 
teacher and comrades, but with a keen memory, 
also, of the narrowness and folly which attempted 
to instil the idea of a God made angry and re- 
vengeful by an afternoon of simple pleasure upon 
the summer sea. 

He was brought up in the straitest sect of the 
Unitarians of those days, being carried twice and 
frequently three times a day to Dr. Parker's 
church, the front house-door being duly locked 
as the little family party sallied forth. While he 
trudged along holding his fond mother's hand, 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 3 

thinking, doubtless, of the box of unread books 
which he had just unwillingly quitted, he was 
unconsciously forming in his own mind a new 
sense of what religion really signified and the 
beauty of the world. That box of books ! He 
never forgot what they were to him ! A friend 
and neighbor of his mother having lately lost her 
own only son, offered to let James enjoy his books. 
They were to be borrowed a few at a time, read, 
and returned before others should be taken. It 
was not long before he knew every one the box 
contained, and to his latest years, could name them 
over. " I wonder if that good woman knew all 
she did for me," he said latterly ; " if I could 
find her people I should be so happy to do some- 
thing for them now." 

One of the privileges and pleasures of his early 
life was connected with Dr. Parker's church. 
There was a flourishing Sunday-school, chiefly, I 
believe, under the minister's own care, but James's 
teacher was a man of singular integrity and 
beauty of character. " I think there never was 
a better man than Mr. F.," he used to say, " and 
his teaching was as simple and true as the man 
himself. We could not help understanding it 
or loving him. He was a model Sunday-school 
teacher." There is a small book of prayers still 
in my possession prepared by Dr. Parker for this 



4 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

school. He treasured this little volume to the 
end, and it took the place of the prayer-book with 
us, one of the last Sundays he passed on earth. 

Although the boy was denied the pleasures of 
boating and of horses, — which were considered 
equally dangerous and terrible by his careful par- 
ent, — it must not be supposed that he was a 
stranger to boyish sports and exercises. From an 
early age he became a great walker and was fond of 
open-air games. There never was a boy who was a 
greater favorite with his companions. His out-of- 
door life with them, in those quiet shaded streets, 
or in their excursions to Rye Beach and shorter 
wood-land rambles, or journeys to Dover and 
Greenland, were always delightful reminiscenses. 
Often by the half hour he would amuse others 
as well as himself recalling the companions of 
those days by the names they each assumed, 
and recounting their boyish fun. Who can ever 
forget, having once heard, the tales of " Gundy 
Got" and "Shindy Clemmens" and others, whose 
nicknames I cannot now recall ; or the story of 
his first pocket-knife named "Sharper," and the 
way in which the reputation of Sharper spread 
among the boys; or the Saturday afternoons in 
the famous garrets of those days when they re- 
galed each other on sweetened water until one 
boy, having made his beverage a week before- 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 5 

hand in order to be on time, was exposed by the 
quick sense of James and brought to confession ? 
Who ever failed to be amused at his own amuse- 
ment over these boyish follies ? His exuberance 
and love of nature made every step of the long 
road from the south end of Portsmouth to Rye 
Beach like turning a fresh page of an unread book, 
and to the end of his life the great book of nature 
was his chief curiosity, his unchanged early love. 
However tired other boys might become, he was al- 
ways fresh, with a first-rate appetite for luncheon, 
when he arrived at the end of his walk. The 
memory of those boyish pleasures made the old 
places dear to him forever, and he was always 
ready for " a day or two in Portsmouth." 

In one of the little addresses given at some 
academy in his later years, we find him say- 
ing, " Remember, boys, it is not so much the 
books you study as the books you read which will 
be of permanent value to you." In saying this he 
was only speaking out of his own experience. 
From the box of books to which I have referred, 
it was an easy step to the Portsmouth library (the 
Athenseum), still preserved in the same pleasant 
old building of the last century, looking out upon 
the public street. The honors of the High School 
seem to have been easily won, leaving time 
enough beside for those hours in the broad win- 



6 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

dow seat of the old library room, which he loved to 
point out to me in our visits to Portsmouth. The 
window was shaded by a fine tree tempering the 
summer sunshine, making his chosen retreat a 
most delightful resort both in summer and in win- 
ter. Before the age of fourteen, when he came to 
Boston, there were few books in the library which 
he had not mastered. Everything possible to his 
years, and much more, he seems to have read and 
remembered. He used to say with amusement, 
that he chose to go into a book-shop when he 
came to Boston, because he thought he could sit 
behind the counter and read all day ; but the first 
thing he was told was that boys were not allowed 
to read in business hours. 

His companions and play time were not mean- 
while forgotten. Upon one of the numerous oc- 
casions of late years for calling together the 
" Sons of Portsmouth," he said : " It is good for 
us to be a troop of happy boys once more. I am 
glad to see the companions of my school-days ; 
boys who have knocked the chip off my hat, boys 
who have dared me out three times, boys who 
have met me in those fierce encounters between 
the Northern and Southern tribes of our native 
town, and who are my excellent friends now that 
these bloodless but terrible Saturday afternoons 
are all over." 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 7 

When the boy of fourteen quitted his native 
town " to go into business," he left a happy mem- 
ory behind him. All the boys who could go, or 
who were in any wise ready for college or business, 
left when he did ; and he never forgot that morn- 
ing when the little company clambered up the 
coach-side full of hope and excitement for an un- 
tried future. There was some boyish grief for his 
mother and those who must be left behind. On 
the whole, however, it was a very happy and ex- 
citing journey, the longest he had ever taken, and 
he arrived in Boston full of new life for the days 
to come. 

I have before me now, carefully preserved 
through these many years, the letter of Mr. Rich- 
ard Sullivan, telling James that he had found 
a place for him according to his request, with 
Messrs. Carter and Hendee. " Excellent young 
men and much respected in Boston. If you like 
the trade, and are pleased with the place, you can 
come as soon as your mother pleases." It was in 
accordance with this note that when the school 
term was ended James came to Boston. His new 
life was full of interest to him, in spite of his not 
being allowed to read all day as he had fancied ; 
but his employers were extremely kind to him, 
soon discovering that he could be much better 
employed than in the usual routine imposed upon 



8 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

boys. After a very few days he was relieved 
from the work of taking care of the shop and 
given clerk's work instead, and he shortly became 
one of the trusted members of the establishment. 

Speaking of his employers in later years, Mr. 
Fields said : " Mr. Hendee was an indulgent mas- 
ter and pleased to make the boys in his shop 
happy. According to the fashion of those times 
he had a box at the theatre, and always invited 
one or more of the clerks to go every night. In 
this way I saw the elder Booth, Fanny Kemble 
as Juliet, her father, and in short all the good 
actors who came to America at that time." 

A certain wholesome pride of character early 
manifested itself. He quickly learned all details 
of business ; wholesale and retail prices, orders 
needing to be filled, honest and dishonest buy- 
ers and sellers, persons prompt in payment and 
otherwise, and with especial quickness at once ob- 
served by his masters, he was able to discover 
what books were to be popular. He acquired also 
a power, considered " very queer " by the other 
clerks, of seeing a person enter the shop and pre- 
dicting what book was wanted before the wish 
was expressed. For some time he kept this to 
himself, but after a while, on its being discovered, 
it was one of the interests for the day among the 
clerks to see how many times James would be 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 9 

right, and he seldom made a miss. He thought 
no more of reading behind the counter, that idea 
was only remembered as a boy's idle fancy, but 
every night he would carry home an armful of 
books, and he became acquainted with a goodly 
portion of their contents before morning. In after 
years he used to deplore the foolish habit, as he 
called it, of doing without sleep, for his love of 
nature and open-air life caused him to be up with 
the dawn, that he might have an early walk and 
taste the fresh air before the world was astir. The 
fullness of life which never knows weariness ex- 
cept as the downward sweep of the pendulum, the 
brightness of the sun of human existence, the un- 
tamed spirit of action and desire were never more 
fully seen than in his nature. From the first he 
was sufficient not only to take care of himself but 
others, and as is universally the case with such 
natures there were needs enough presented early 
and always continued, to absorb a large portion 
of whatever might be his. " The heart at leis- 
ure from itself to soothe and sympathize " was 
native to him. The best thing he gave, or had 
to give, was " that good which is effused by a 
kind nature, and is not lost or wasted in vacancy. 
The surrounding natures must catch a portion of 
it, as of a portion of the sun or air, and diffuse it 
in their turn." 



10 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

In the few pages of autobiography left by Barry 
Cornwall, I find the following passage upon the 
value and the choice of reading. I quote it here 
because it is another spirit bearing testimony to 
what was a religion with Mr. Fields, a code of 
law reproduced by him for others, in some form, 
every day of his life : — 

" In the village where I dwelt [wrote Mr. Proctor] , 
there was a circulating library. Its contents were of a 
very humble description. It contained the novels and 
romances of fifty years ago, a score of old histories, and 
a few volumes of biography now forgotten. The books 
had been bought at sales for the value of waste paper. 
Nevertheless it was out of this dusty collection of learn- 
ing that I was enabled to select a few books which 
spurred me on the great road of thought. When we 
encounter a new idea it surprises us, and we begin to 
doubt and examine it, and this is thought. For it is not 
simply the admission of another man's ideas, for these 
sometimes present themselves so that we neither dissent 
nor sympathize. They do not spur the mind on its road 
at all. I had already read Caesar and Virgil, and Ovid, 
and some parts of Theocritus, and passages of Homer ; 
but these passed unprofitable over my mind, like shadows 
over the unreflecting earth below. They were read as 
words only, and left no trace or image. But now a more 
effective agent was at work, which moved my heart at 
the same time with my other faculties. Let no one de- 
spise the benefits which thus open the young and tender 
heart. They are the gates of knowledge If I 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 11 

had never become intimate with Le Sage, and Fielding, 
and Richardson, with Sterne, and Inctibald, and Rad- 
cliffe, I should, perhaps, have stopped at my seventeeth 
year disheartened on my way. But they were my en- 
couragers : they forced me to travel onwards to the In- 
tellectual Mountains. I have now forgotten all my 
mathematics and arithmetic, all my Greek, and almost 
all my Latin ; but I cleave to those who were true nurses 
of my boyhood still." 

It is interesting to read this passage in connec- 
tion with the following extracts from an informal 
address made by Mr. Fields to the young men of 
Phillips Academy, Exeter, in 1874. He says : — 

" Fellow Students, — I count myself still a scholar, 
a seeker after knowledge and the true meaning of things. 
And it is always a great pleasure to me when I stand 
face to face with a hundred or more busy young gentle- 
men thirty or forty years younger than I am. You 
would scarcely believe it to look at me now, but I was 
really once young myself and studied Latin. I actually 
once had a smooth cheek and dug away at my Greek 
verbs, and spaded about among my mathematical roots 
like yourselves. And so, as I have suffered in these 
things myself, I know how to sympathize with you. You 
can't tell me what it is to wake up in the morning with 
a thundering great mathematical problem lying in wait 
for you ! I know all about it. . . . Just see how sim- 
ple the whole matter of acquiring information is. Given 
Brains (and we always claim the privilege of knock- 
ing a man down, if he disputes with us the fact of this 



12 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

possession), and all we can require, and must acquire, 
are these three — Attention, Perseverance, and Memory. 
These can all be had for the asking; they can all be 
strengthened if they happen to be weak in any special 
case. You notice I do not reckon in Morals, for I can- 
not conceive of a real student, a young man of brains or 
common sense, who loves learning, and means to be a 
first-rater, by and by, I cannot conceive of Ms having 
any time or inclination for those idiotic immoralities 
which turn a man into a brute. I take it, that sort of a 
thing is not in our line, and so I do not intend to insult 
you by mixing up baser matters with the things needful, 
which we are all striving for, namely, the Great Truths 
of life. Go in for fun and genuine enjoyment. It is a 
capital rule to play a little every day of our lives." 

This was quite as much as was wise or possible 
to say to students still under their master's super- 
vision, but in his lecture on " Fiction " he reiter- 
ates his faith in the value of literature of the 
imagination in forming the young mind. 

James Russell Lowell has lately given expres- 
sion to this same truth, in his speech at the Lit- 
erary Fund Dinner in London. u Science/' Mr. 
Lowell says, " can never extinguish imagination, 
nor that thirst which human nature feels for some- 
thing more piercing than facts are apt to be. I 
think that as long as the human race lasts wonder 
and delight in natural things, which, perhaps, are 
not useful, and which are certainly not scientific, 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 13 

will be born into the world with every child." In 
a sphere where the gospel of work is rigidly en- 
forced the rare individual natures who give ex- 
pansion as well as expression to something deeper 
and more enduring within us cannot be too highly 
prized. One of this beloved company has said, 
" If life itself were not a pleasure the utility even 
of its necessaries might very well be questioned. " 
In rehearsing the story of a life the fact of pri- 
mal importance is the individual. Be careful to 
preserve the corners, Goethe has somewhere said, 
lest if we are too well rounded off there will be 
no personal recognition in the hereafter. There- 
fore it is a happiness even to recall the limitations 
of certain natures. Defining what they are not, 
however, cannot define what they are. That is 
quite a different labor. To define what they are 
not would only be to lose ourselves in God's il- 
limitable plan. 

" A man may earn the gratitude of the world by 
speaking, writing, or acting admirably [writes Coventry 
Patmore], but its most delighted and enduring thanks 
are given to individuality of character, in other words, 
to a living addition to the visible scope and variety of 
humanity. This individuality, whether in action or in 
art, is always more or less, and often wholly, uncon- 
scious. Consciousness is the destruction of individual- 
ity, . . . but all true character is individual, and incapa- 



14 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

ble of being acquired by any amount of effort, or quite 
abolished by any amount of neglect. It is so rare and 
delicate a quality that to be able to recognize it at first 
hand in a poem or other work of art is in itself a sort 
of originality, the gift, or rather the grace of the few 
whose yerdict is sure to prevail after a time, commonly 
a long time." 

In this age of much scientific study and noble 
advance, the character of which we write was 
marked by quiet progress in its own direction. 
The paths of science were reverently left to other 
feet as quite outside his own province. By the 
modest and almost unconscious acceptance of him- 
self he was laid open to much misapprehension 
from the learned and dogmatic, but the recogni- 
tion universally and instinctively accorded to him 
wherever simple human intercourse was possible, 
made his life rich. He was incapable of envy, 
and had no ambitions beyond doing his best in his 
own direction. He was continually surprised, and 
rejoiced afresh by the appreciation which came to 
him. 

One of Mr. Fields's earliest interests, outside his 
business, was connected with the Mercantile Li- 
brary Association. Of this portion of his life, 
Mr. Whipple has lately written in the " Atlantic 
Monthly." These few extracts from his tender 
and able tribute shall stand here to speak for 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 15 

these years, more perfectly than any words of 
mine could do : — 

" My acquaintance with Fields began at the Boston 
Mercantile Library Association when we were boys of 
eighteen or nineteen. It happened that both of us were 
inflamed by a passionate love of literature and by a cor- 
dial admiration of men of letters ; that we had read — 
of course superficially — most of the leading poets and 
prose writers of Great Britain, and had a tolerably cor- 
rect idea of their chronological succession ; that both of 
us could write verse in various measures, and each then 
thought that the ten-syllabled couplet of Dryden and 
Pope was the perfection of poetic form ; and that Fields 
had made his reputation a few days before our acquaint- 
ance began as the first anniversary poet of the associa- 
tion. Before a large audience he had read an original 
poem which commanded general applause. 

" It was my fortune, or misfortune, to follow Fields in 
his brilliantly successful anniversary poem. Of what I 
wrote I can hardly remember a line. The whole thing 
has gone out of my memory as thoroughly as it has gone 
out of the memory of the public. But what I do remem- 
ber is this, that Fields was anxious that I should suc- 
ceed. Being under the age when a free American can 
vote, I naturally thought my couplets were quite bright. 
Fields did all he could to confirm me in my amiable il- 
lusion. He suggested new ' points ; ' worked with me as 
though he desired that my performance should eclipse 
his own ; and was the foremost among the lads who, 
after the agony of delivery was over, were pleased to 



* 



16 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

congratulate me on what was called my ' success.' This 
disinterestedness made me at once a warm friend of 
Fields. 

" One of the most notable facts in the lives of clerks 
with literary tastes and moderate salaries is the mysteri- 
ous way in which they contrive to collect books. Among 
the members of the Mercantile Library Association, 
Thomas R. Gould (now known as one of the most emi- 
nent of American sculptors), Fields, and myself had 
what we called ' libraries ' before we were twenty-one. 
Gould was a clerk in a dry-goods jobbing house, Fields 
in a book-store, I in a broker's office. Fields's collec- 
tion much exceeded Gould's and mine, for he had in his 
room two or three hundred volumes, — the nucleus of a 
library which eventually became one of the choicest pri- 
vate collections of books, manuscripts, and autographs 
in the city. The puzzle of the thing was that we could 
not decide how we had come into the possession of such 
treasures. We had begun to collect before we were in 
our teens, and as we had neither stolen nor begged we 
concluded that our ' libraries ' represented our sacrifices. 
In the evening, after the day's hard work was over, 
Gould and I drifted by instinct to Fields's boarding- 
house; and what glorious hilarity we always found in 
his room ! He was never dull, never morose, never de- 
sponding. Full of cheer himself, he radiated cheer into 
us. On one occasion Gould and I introduced the ques- 
tion of our salaries, and somewhat gloomily resented the 
fact that there was no prospect of their being increased. 
' Look here, Tom and Ned,' Fields broke out, ' I have 
none of your fears in this matter. I was originally des- 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 17 

tined for Jupiter, but the earth caught hold of me, and 
hauled me in. Don't you see, by thus impertinently in- 
terfering, the earth is bound to give me a good living ? ' 
This joyousness of mood lasted through his life. 

" The conversation of Fields had, even in his boyhood, 
the two charms of friendliness and inventiveness. The 
audacities of his humor spared neither solemn respecta- 
bilities nor accredited reputations ; yet in his intercourse 
with his friends his wildest freaks of satire never inflicted 
a wound. His sensitive regard for the feelings of those 
with whom he mingled was a marvel of that tact which 
is the offspring of good nature as well as of good sense. 
When he raised a laugh at the expense of one of his 
companions, the laugh was always heartily enjoyed and 
participated in by the object of his mirth; for, indulg- 
ing to the top of his bent in every variety of witty mis- 
chief, he had not in his disposition the least alloy of witty 
malice. When seemingly delivered over to the most un- 
restrained ecstasies of his jubilant moods, when his ar- 
rows flew with lightning-like rapidity, hitting this person 
and that on the exact weak point where their minds or 
characters were open to good-natured ridicule, there never 
was the least atom of poison on the shining edge of his 
shafts. 

" Those who knew Fields in his youth as well as in his 
manhood must have noted that he was two widely differ- 
ent persons, according as he talked with intimate friends 
or chance acquaintances. He never was his real self ex- 
cept in the company of the former, for with them he 
had to put no rein on his impulsive feeling or his quick 
intelligence ; but the latter utterly failed to comprehend 
2 



18 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

him as be was in himself. To them, indeed, he appeared 
as an eminently polite person, irreproachably dressed, 
irreproachably decorous, guarded in his conversation, 
pleasing in his manners, relying for his modest position 
in literature on what he had privately printed for dis- 
tribution among his friends, and never presuming to be 
anything more than a publisher, who not only sympa- 
thized with literary genius, but had a singularly swift 
power to discern it. To us who were in his confidence 
he was ever the maddest of mad wits, of inexhaustible 
inventiveness and unconventional audacity. . . . 

" I cannot help lingering on these early days of our 
friendship, for his forth-rushing ebulliency of nature was 
never more delightful than at that period, though his 
capacity of self-command was even then as remarkable as 
his spontaneity. 

" As years rolled on, and Fields became a partner in 
the house which he had served as a clerk, the proofs mul- 
tiplied that he was, among American publishers, one of 
the most sagacious judges of the intrinsic and money 
value of works of literature. . . . 

" As I happened to witness the gradual growth of what 
became one of the leading publishing houses of the coun- 
try, and as I know that its germinating root was in the 
brain of Fields, I may be able to give some testimony as 
to its rise and progress. Fields from the start had de- 
liberately formed in his mind an ideal of a publisher who 
might profit by men of letters, and at the same time 
make men of letters profit by him. He thoroughly un- 
derstood both the business and literary side of his occu- 
pation. Some of the first publications of the house be- 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 19 

longed to a light order of literature, but they still had 
in them that indefinable something which distinguishes 
.the work of literary artists from the work of literary 
artisans. 

" One thing always puzzled me in reference to Fields, 
and that was how he contrived to get time to attend to 
his own affairs. His place of business always seemed 
thronged with visitors. Some dropped in to have a chat 
with him, and they dropped in every day ; others had 
letters of introduction, and were to be received with par- 
ticular attention ; others were merciless bores, who se- 
verely tested his patience and good-nature. On some 
forenoons he could hardly have had half an hour to him- 
self. Then he was continually doing kindly acts which 
required the expenditure of a good deal of time. In 
spite of all these distractions, he was a singularly orderly 
and methodical business man. He made up for the hours 
he lost, or was robbed of, by accustoming himself to 
think swiftly and decide quickly on business matters. 
.... I have done small justice to my own conception 
of the brilliancy of his wit, the alertness of his intelli- 
gence, the variety of his information, and the kindness 
of his heart. I shall have to take some other opportu- 
nity to speak of his numerous writings, and of his career 
as a lecturer on literature." 

Neither public interests nor private friendships 
are sufficient to round the full life of the natural 
man. The instinct of home is as deep in our na- 
tures as the instinct of common joy. During the 
period of which Mr. Whipple has spoken, Mr. 



20 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Fields became engaged to a beautiful girl, Mary 
Willard, eldest daughter of Mary (Adams) and 
Simon Willard. She seemed in every way suited 
to make him happy, but disease had laid its hand 
upon her, and a few months after the engagement 
she faded out of life. This was his first sorrow. 
He felt incapacitated for the old routine of life 
for the time, and as soon as possible he sailed for 
Europe. Sea-sickness, lasting forty days, was a 
novel experience, and one not to be repeated. 
There were steamers even in those days, and he 
returned in one after a visit of a few months, but 
his fortune in the steamer was hardly better than 
in the sailing vessel. His own diary shall serve 
to give us particulars of this first rapid tour in 
Europe. During the voyage he writes : — 

" Here my observation ceases for many days. That 
dreadful destroyer of all personal comfort at sea got hold 
upon me and kept me chained to my berth. At inter- 
vals I was able to enjoy the fine sights about me : the 
rising and setting sun, the shifting clouds, the rolling 
swarms of fish, from the huge black-fish to the little 
nautilus. Life at sea is so new and strange to my expe- 
rience I have something to attract my attention every 
hour of the day, and only want bodily strength to note 
down what I witness of interest. My nights are passed 

mostly in uneasy snatches of sleep. C reads to 

me every night till ten or eleven, and I manage after 
that to toil through the hours." 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 21 

The days and nights were chiefly a repetition of 
the above, save when he was able to pursue his 
studies of the French language and French and 
English history. One day we find him reading 
Lockhart's Scott. " I should like it better if I had 
not read it so often/' he writes. 

This hurried diary gives an interesting picture 
of how much may be crowded into a single day, 
and digested, too, by a young and enthusiastic 
traveler. Days grow to be as long as weeks. 
Such travelers may truly say, — 

" I moments live who lived but years." 

"July 9, 1847. This morning we got into Havre 
with the ship at about eight o'clock. I jumped ashore 

as soon as possible with the Captain and M , and 

was enchanted at every step of the way. Everything 
was so new, and land so glorious once again. After 
breakfast I went about with a young French gentleman 
who was kindly introduced to me in the counting-house 
of MM. Lemaitre and Cie. We went first, at my 
request, to the house in which St. Pierre, author of 
' Paul and Virginia,' was born, now occupied by a re- 
finer of sugar. 1 Then to the end of the superb 'pier- 
head' and to the Round Tower of Francis the First. 
The day is a delightful one, and I never saw human 
faces so happy before in the streets. Dined at two 

1 Mr. Fields has recorded the suggestions of this visit in his paper 
upon " The Author of Paul and Virginia," included in his volume 
of Sketches called Underbrush. 



22 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

P. M., and left for Rouen in the three P. M. train." [Then 
follows a list of towers, castles, cathedrals, towns, and 
villages, en route.] 

" My companions were a young Scotchman and a 
young Englishman, intelligent and most communicative, 
one inviting me to visit Edinburgh, and the other Lon- 
don. . . . After dining [We may observe it was for the 
second time that day, but he had divided the cherry and 
made two of it] I sallied out and walked among the 
crowds, the women in high Norman caps, and made my 
way to the great Cathedral famous over Europe. It was 
just vesper time, and the effect of the nuns singing be- 
hind the high altar was an utterance of music so thrill- 
ing it went to my heart. The light came dimly down 
the aisles, and I lingered till the priests walked by me 
to their cloisters. . . . The Seine runs directly by my 
windows ; and as I write this a bugle from a descend- 
ing steamboat steals along the water like an echo. I 
am tired, but could not help recording, before I slept, my 
first day in Europe. . . . 

" July 10. My second day in Europe. Rose at five 
and went to the great Cathedral to attend matins." 
[Here follows a description of churches, monuments, and 
places seen before half past nine, when he returns for 
coffee to the hotel, but sallying forth again directly he 
visits and enjoys the market, Palais de Justice, Museum, 
where he mentions particularly the autographs of Rich- 
ard Coeur de Lion and William the Conqueror. He 
says of two old houses which he visits :] " They look 
like carved objects that have escaped some great mu- 
seum. ... I have run into the flower-market twenty 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 23 

times to-day and gaped with delight at the curious old 
damsels who offer their bouquets in unknown tongues. 
Notwithstanding I have got lost in a dozen streets, I 
manage to come out right at last, everybody is so com- 
plaisant and so ready to go any distance with you to set 
you going in the true direction again. . . . The old con- 
cert gardens near the St. Ouen Church are well worth 
the half hour occupied in looking at them. 

" Left Rouen at four P. M. for Paris, by the railroad, 
which runs through a highly interesting country all the 
way." [He gives a detailed account of every village, and 
of glimpses of the Seine, its bridges, of chateaux, ave- 
nues of trees, scenes of historical interest, etc., until he 
sees Paris " towering mistily into the skies."] 

" My heart beat rapidly as I made out in the evening 
light, indistinctly, familiar objects from the memory of 
pictures I have seen." 

And so ended the second day in Europe. 

The third day being Sunday, the best day of 
all, so it was crowded the fullest. Again we read, 
" Eose at five, dressed, and sallied forth," — and 
after a long list of things seen and done, he 
writes, " To bed at one." Speaking of his visit to 
the Hotel des Invalides, he says, " I saw stumps 
of men to-day, the major part of whose bodies 
had been left scattered on battle-fields before I 
was born." " Home to bed at twelve," and " rose 
at half past four," or, the latest hour recorded, 
" rose at seven," — such were his habits as a trav- 
eler, the same as when at home. 



24 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Mr. Goodrich (Peter Parley), our consul, was at 
this time living in Paris with his family, and our 
traveler seems to have found a warm welcome at 
his house. Mr. George Sumner was also in Paris, 
and Mr. Henry Baird of Philadelphia. All three 
gentlemen were his intimates, and he owed much 
of his pleasure in Paris to their companionship. 
From the Ehine he writes of himself as still inde- 
fatigable : " Went to bed at ten, got up and saw 
the Drachenfels by moonlight ; saw the sun rise ; 
walked out at five around the town. ... In the 
cars we had opportunity of observing how a kind 
deed or a gentle word atones for an ugly face." 

His first day in London was, of course, full of 
delight to him. 

" Dined at a chop-house. Loitered in book-shops. 
Went to Bath Court (Dr. Johnson's lodgings), Covent 
Garden, The Cock and Magpie of Jack Sheppard mem- 
ory, and to Wolsey's house, now a barber's shop. . . . 
Took a cab and drove to the booksellers', Moxon's, 
Bonn's, Pickering's, and Murray's, whose rooms are in- 
teresting as connected with English literature. Mr. 
Murray's nephew showed us about the apartment, where 
are original portraits of Byron, Scott, Campbell, Moore, 
Irving, and other eminent men." 

It was during this first visit to London that 
Mr. Fields enjoyed that exceptional evening at 
the Italian Opera (Her Majesty's Theatre), when 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 25 

Jenny Lind, Lablache, Gardoni, Coletti, Corelli, 
and others made their appearance. Who of his 
friends cannot remember his humorous description 
of that night, the intense excitement, the won- 
derful fulfilment of excited expectation ? " After 
the opera we had c Le Jugement de Paris.' Tag- 
lioni and Cerito were the principal dancers. We 
went home at half-past twelve, entirely satisfied 
that the fame of these singers and dancers had 
not been overstated or overrated. Coming along 
home we were accosted by a little child in the 
street, who swept the sidewalks, begging for pen- 
nies, — a contrast to the splendid scene we had 
just left by no means pleasant." We find notes 
at this period also of breakfasts, dinners, and 
visits to Mr. John Kenyon, Mr. and Mrs. Howitt, 
Mr. and Mrs. Procter (Barry Cornwall), and Mr. 
and Mrs. S. C. Hall, all of whom became his life- 
long friends. 

" Sunday, went to hear W. J. Fox preach. Fox gave 
out a hymn, read a passage from the Bible, from Words- 
worth, Southey's translation of Michael Angelo, Milton, 
and Herder. No text, but a consideration of the litera- 
ture of the day : Leigh Hunt, Wordsworth, the ( Econo- 
mist ' newspaper, etc. Told anecdote of the Society for 
the Suppression of Mendicity. ( What shall be done 
with the poets ? ' Fine singing at Finsbury Chapel, and 
an original preacher Mr. Kenyon recalled at Mr. 



26 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Procter's dinner-table Rogers's description of dining with 
Sheridan, Talleyrand, and C. G. Fox. < Barry ' himself 
told me more privately of his young days at school with 
Byron and Sir Robert Peel. He also spoke of his love 
of 4 Hyperion,' by H. W. L. 'You don't drink, Fields,' 
he said to me. ' Ah ! he is languishing for his Susque- 
hanna ! ' . . . 

" Left London for Brompton and l The Rosary,' the 
beautiful cottage of Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall. Mrs. 
Hall's library is a most tastefully decorated room. A 
fine parrot, whom Mrs. H. calls her secretary, added by 
his presence to the beauty of the apartment." 

He describes an interesting company of persons 
assembled at Mrs. Hall's, and returned to London 
delighted with his visit. 

" Walked through the college grounds at Eton, and 
on towards Stoke Pogis." [Recalling, doubtless, as he 
went, those exquisite lines of Gray, " Ye distant spires, ye 
antique towers," which were favorites of his ; indeed, the 
last words he heard on earth were from Mr. Matthew 
Arnold's beautiful sketch of Gray's life, published in 
Ward's " English Poets."] " Just as twilight came on 
we rambled into Gray's churchyard, and read the tablet 
nigh his tomb. The hour was happily chosen, and the 
whole scene most touchingly beautiful." [Copied from 
the tombstone in Gray's churchyard :] " In the same 
pious confidence, beside her buried sister, here sleep the 
remains of Dorothy Gray, widow, the careful tender 
mother of many children, one of whom alone had the 
misfortune to survive her." 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 27 

A few days later he writes : — 

" In company with Leslie, the painter, visited Mr. 
Rogers's house, in St. James Place. He was not in ; 
saw his Rubens, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Rembrandt, and 
all this beautiful collection by the most tasteful poet of 
his time. . . . 

" Tea with William and Mary Howitt at Clapton, 
who gave me a hearty reception. Freilegrath came in 
and stayed during our visit, talking of Longfellow and 
Bryant with enthusiastic admiration. . . . 

44 To-day Moxon showed me the remnant of Elia's 
library, and gave me a copy of the 4 Rape of the Lock ' 
that once belonged to Charles Lamb, and contained some 
manuscript pages in his handwriting. . . . 

"August 26. Had a delightful interview with the 
author of 4 Our Village.' . . . 

44 Nine A. M. Rose at five, and rambled round the old 
city of Bristol ; went to Radcliff church, and reconnoi- 
tered the old place thoroughly, thinking of Chatterton 
and his wretched life and death." 

Of course his visit to Stratford is most enthusi- 
astically described, but there are no special points 
to mention here. Mr. Fields's friends will never 
fail to recall his amusing story of one of his stage 
companions thither, who asked why he was so 
eager to stop at Stratford. " Because Shakespeare 
happened to live here/' was the reply. " Shake- 
speare," said his interlocutor, "he'd never been 
thought anything of if he had n't written them 



28 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

plays ! " Unhappily these little trifles do not bear 
transcription. If occasionally they slip, as it were, 
from the point of the pen, because the mind so 
indissolubly connects them with certain places, 
persons, or things, an apology should go with 
them, since the voice and manner which gave 
them grace are vanished. 

" A kind note from Colonel Wild man inviting us to 
Newstead Abbey. Saw an old lady at the Hut who 
had seen Byron and his mother alight at the ' old place ' 
which formerly occupied the ground, where the present 
inn stands. Spent many hours at the Abbey, where we 
saw the chapel, tomb over the dog, the drinking cup 
(skull), tree with Byron's name beside his sister's. Also 
from an eminence in the garden saw Annesley Hall, 
(Mary Chaworth's residence), old mill at the lake side, 
boat, Byron's canoe in the hall ; rode over to Hucknall 
Church where Byron lies buried, — sexton just locking 
the doors, — walked into the Byron pew ; saw the spot 
where Byron lies ; tablet erected by his sister. . . . Ar- 
rived at Edinburgh at half-past five in the morning, the 
castle looming proudly up in the sunlight. After rattling 
over the pavements many a weary mile, the hotels being 
all full, we were set down at 31 St. Andrew's Square, 
and were received by the landlady at the top of the 
stairs in her night-cap, nothing abashed at our presence. 

Poor old Mrs. H , can I ever forget her welcome, and 

her offer of all sorts of spirituous liquors ! . . . Went to 
Blackwood's. Saw Wilson's portrait in his back room ; 
strolled about this glorious old city. . . . Went into old 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 29 

churches, and I made bold to ascend a Dissenter's pulpit 
and think of John Knox. . . ." 

" Rode down to Gallashiels on top of the coach 
beside a young Scotch lady who knew every inch of the 
ground ; had seen Scott when a child, and knew Lock- 
hart. She pointed out all the noted hills and castles, 
and I was sorry when she bade us good-by at the door 
of the little inn by the roadside in Gallashiels. At G. 
we took what is called a dog-cart, a queer vehicle enough 
but quite comfortable, and drove down to Abbotsford ; 
we walked along in sight of Scott's proud growth of 
young trees planted by himself with so much pleasure, 
and pretty soon entered the gateway to his dwelling. 
There it stood on the green and beautiful slope, so quiet 
and still that it seemed the tomb of greatness departed. 
Not a sound disturbed the solitude. . . . We walked 
down the avenue to the hall door and rang the bell very 
softly. The housekeeper bade us enter the apartment 
first shown, where armor hung about the walls and 
everything breathed of war and border minstrelsy. 

" I sat in Scott's library chair, walked about among his 
books, examined his pictures, looked upon his hat and 
cane and the last coat he ever wore. After spending all 
the time we could spare in the house we went into the 
grounds and sat down by the Tweed side. A chamber 
window was open and we imagined that room the one in 
which Scott died. Lockhart describes the scene and no 
one can forget it. . . . As we sat in the evening in the 
little parlor at the 'King's Arms,' Melrose, we heard 
the voice of a woman singing one of Burns's songs in 
another room. We rang the bell and the music ceased. 




30 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

It was the landlady's daughter who had been singing, 
and who came to spread the table for our simple supper. 
We read till midnight, and then as the moon had risen 
sallied out into the quiet village. There stood the old 
Abbey waiting for us. We rambled about in the moon- 
light and climbed into the broken windows. ... It was 
a great night, that at Melrose. To bed but not to sleep. 
" Up at five, a dull, misty morning, and set off in a 
droskyfpr Dryburgh Abbey, where Scott lies buried. 
As we ^etat on the sun came out and the whole scene was 
full of beauty. We passed the Eildon Hills, Chiefswood, 
Ravenswood, and Wallace's Monument. Crossed the 
Tweed in a small boat and leaped ashore just on the 
rim of a waving forest filled with birds. Walked on in 
silence through rows of superb trees till we reached a 
low cottage, where reside the family who show Dry- 
burgh and its grounds. The Tweed was rippling by us 
as we stood around the grave of Scott, and a robin from 
a neighboring tree kept up his morning melody undis- 
turbed. We picked some pebbles out of the river to 
carry with us, and left a spot no change can ever wipe 
from my memory." 

It was upon this visit that Mr. Fields met John 
Wilson (Christopher North) and William Words- 
worth, but he has recorded his memory of these 
visits both in prose and verse more satisfac- 
torily than in these meagre jottings from his diary. 
To return briefly to the journal : — 
" My last day in London. The old apple-woman at 
the corner of Arundel Street wishes me all sorts of luck 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 31 

wherever I may go ! I have eaten her pears till she 
seems like a friend I am leaving behind. . . . 

" September 5. Sunday. On board the steamer Bri- 
tannia. Wind fair. Head pretty steady. . . . Sat near 
the bows ; read Bible and prayer-book. Began Irving's 
4 Astoria.' ... 

" September 8. Walked with Judge K. and a 'Scotch 
gentleman who is to travel a year in America ; thinks 
New York is in New England and New Orleans near 
Boston. 

" September 9. Bed most of the day. P very 

funny, but I can't laugh at his jokes. Much obliged to 
him, however, for trying to amuse me. 

" September 15. At five o'clock this evening, while 

lying in my berth talking with B , the steamer ran 

ashore 

"September 16. Leaking badly. . . . can't help 

laughing at behind his back. His courage has 

dwindled to a pin's point. He has just left his state- 
room with a face like a tombstone. 

" September 17. Leaking badly — nearing Halifax. 
. . . Jumped ashore and walked all over the city. . . . 

"Sunday morning, Sailing up Boston Harbor. I have 
walked the deck two long nights thinking of home and 
friends." 

Once more in the old places Mr. Fields took up 
his renewed life with increased vigor. The fol- 
lowing note to Miss Mitford in 1849 gives a hint 
of his literary occupations : — 



32 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Boston, U. S. A., November 10, 1849. 

" Dear Miss Mitfoed, — Many weeks have elapsed 
since I received your welcome letter, and I have delayed 
answering it till now that I might send you a book I 
have been editing. It is called ' The Boston Book,' be- 
cause it contains the contributions of our metropolitan 
writers. Among our Boston men you will find the names 
of Webster, Prescott, Longfellow, and others not unknown 
across the waters. I did not include Channing because 
I have not printed the writings of any deceased authors. 
The book is intended as a souvenir to be handed to a 
friend as a memento of our city, and I am happy to say 
a large edition is already sold. 

" Mr. George Ticknor's 4 History of Spanish Litera- 
ture' is going through the press rapidly. It will be 
ready in a few weeks for publication. 

" I made your compliments as expressed in your last 
letter, and he in return, with his family, begs his kindest 
regards. I have read some portions of his book, those 
devoted to the ballad literature of Spain, and am greatly 
charmed with the perusal. 

" In the course of next month I intend to prepare, if I 
get the leisure, a brief article on some of the less known 
and more recent English poets for one of our Boston 
periodicals, called the 'Examiner,' and hope to please 

B by saying in print how well I like him. I am 

busy just now superintending the republication of the 
complete poems of Robert Browning, the first American 
reprint. It will be issued by our house in a few weeks. 
I asked my friend Mr. Whipple to send you a copy of 
his ' Lectures,' which, I am sure, you will like. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 33 

"Mr. Webster has lately made one of his great 
speeches touching Hungarian affairs. I think I have 
never seen the lion more roused. 

" Mr. Prescott is still busy with his ' History of Philip 
II. of Spain.' He is not determined as to the extent 
of his labor, but it will undoubtedly be one of his long- 
est efforts, and I think one of his most successful ones. 

" With all my best wishes for your health and happi- 
ness, in which I am heartily joined by my friends, 
" I remain, dear Miss Mitford, always 

" Yours most truly, James T. Fields. 

"P. S. Has there ever been made a good engraved 
portrait of yourself ? If so pray send me one. I have 
that which appeared in Chorley's work some years ago, 
but I should like a better one if possible." 

In 1850 Mr. Fields married the younger sister 
of his first betrothed, Eliza Willard. For a few 
brief months they were supremely happy, but 
before a second summer ended she also vanished 
away. His suffering was very great. Being in 
the full vigor of manhood he could not help feel- 
ing that his life, some life to him in this world, 
still remained, and he must face it alone. He 
was blinded and unequal to his duties, therefore 
he was advised again to leave America and pass 
a year in Europe. 

The happy season of his marriage was also 
fruitful of much labor in his career as a publisher. 
In October, 1850, he writes to Miss Mitford : — 

3 



34 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" Many months have elapsed since I have had the 
pleasure of writing to my kind friends in England. I 
have been absent from home, and more than ever busy. 
The older I grow, thicker and faster comes upon me from 
every quarter, work, hard and unremitting work. The 
matter of a publishing house never moves out of the 
way, but is continually crowding itself before one's eyes, 
so that I now find at night huge piles of unfinished labor 
all ready to stare upon me in the morning." 

Again he writes : — 

Boston, January 7, 1851. 

"My dear Miss Mitfoed, — A few days ago I read 
from one of our American newspapers a fresh paper from 
your delightful pen descriptive of English scenery in 
and about your own residence. It was copied from the 
1 Ladies' Companion.' How charmed I was with it, and 
how it roused me again to wishing myself once more in 
the dear old lanes of England. My passion for rural 
life in your country amounts to a disease. Sometimes 
when I get musing about my rambles in England in 
1847, I become very impatient that I see no chance of 
my visit being repeated the next summer. . . . Pray 
accept my thanks for Carlisle's speech. It is well done, 
and is another evidence of his honest good sense. I 
send you a brace of volumes by his friend Charles Sum- 
ner, a man whose splendid talents (albeit his politics 
are unpopular) will send him to the Senate the next 
spring we hope. I also send you Holmes's other vol- 
ume of poems and his late pamphlet. I am sure you 
will like Holmes. He is a prodigious favorite in Bos- 
ton, and one of our most eminent physicians. Hillard's 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 35 

address, which I enclose in the same parcel, is very- 
well thought of here and all over New England. Hil- 
lard is one of our most eloquent speakers, and idolized 
greatly among the young men. We intended to repub- 
lish Mrs. Browning's new edition, but another house in 
New York claims the right, so we give it up. 

" You would be amazed to see what a call we have for 
Bohn's new edition of ' Our Village,' about Christmas. 
I always order from him a good stock, but we generally 
run out long before the New Year. By the steamer just 
in (which brings me your kind letter), I see we have a 
fresh lot, redolent of the woods and fields of Old Eng- 
land. 

" I forget if I have sent you a few new pieces of mine 
printed since the little volume. I will try, however, to 
pick them up from the newspapers and enclose to you in 
some future letter. Hawthorne is writing a new ro- 
mance, to be called ' The House of the Seven Gables.' 
When it is printed, I shall send it to you." . . . 

We find the correspondence of this period in- 
cludes; almost without exception, all the men and 
women of any literary note in America. His cor- 
respondence with some of them was only the be- 
ginning of friendships which were uninterrupted 
to the end, and bringing the fruitage he most 
valued to his life. Among the letters, beginning 
at this time, from those who have gone from this 
earthly scene, I find those of Hawthorne, Willis, 
Mrs. Anna Cora Mowatt, the actress, of whom 



36 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Edgar Poe wrote : " Her sympathy with the pro- 
found passions is evidently intense. . . . This 
enthusiasm, this well of deep feeling, should be 
made to prove for her an inexhaustible source of 
fame. . . . Her step is the perfection of grace. 
Often have I watched her for hours with the clos- 
est scrutiny, yet never for an instant did I observe 
her in an attitude of the least awkwardness or 
even constraint, while many of her seemingly im- 
pulsive gestures spoke in loud terms of the woman 
of genius, of the poet imbued with the profound- 
est sentiment of the beautiful in motion. ... A 
more radiantly lovely smile it is quite impossi- 
ble to conceive." Mrs. Mowatt was much beloved 
by her friends, and always counted Mr. Fields 
among them. 

Fitz Greene Halleck's letters are also before me, 
and brief notes of Margaret Fuller and Mrs. Kirk- 
land; letters of Miss Catherine Sedgwick and 
Epes Sargent, Lewis Gaylord Clark, J. G. C. Brain- 
ard (whose beautiful sonnet upon Niagara was one 
of Mr. Fields's favorite poems), Bayard Taylor, 
Charles Sumner, and Henry B. Hirst. 

The mention of Brainard's name recalls a half- 
forgotten anecdote Mr. Fields related of him, as 
told by Mr. S. G. Goodrich. Brainard was a young 
lawyer, and had an office very near Mr. Good 
rich's. They were too poor to keep a boy tf 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 37 

make their fires in the winter, so they were in 
the habit of going down together and making 
them with their own hands. One morning Brain- 
ard had his stove open ready to put in the fuel, 
when the sonnet upon Niagara came to him. 
He called G. in and repeated the lines. " Write 
it down, write it down," said G., " it is superb." 

Mrs. Seba Smith, also, and the Davidsons, are 
found in this somewhat heterogeneous collection ; 
and Dr. Channing, George P. Morris, Rufus Gris- 
wold, George S. Hillard, Thomas Crawford, the 
sculptor, T. B. Eead, and many others. 

The following lines were sent to Mr. Fields by 
George S. Hillard, on the occasion of the publica- 
tion of the latter's " Six Months in Italy " in 
1853 : — 

" Dear Fields, it is a pleasant thing to find 
My name upon a page with yours conjoined. 
For us that launch upon a sea of ink 
Our foolscap argosies, to swim or sink, 
~No better flag than yours to sail beneath, 
E'er felt the sunbeam's kiss, the breeze's breath. 
The ogre publisher whom poets paint, 
That sucks the blood of authors till they faint, 
The stern pasha of Paternoster Row, 
Whose scrawl portends ' the everlasting no,* 
Is a mere myth to us, who see in you 
A heart still faithful to the morning dew. 
Had I a draught of Hippocrene sustained, 
'T is to your health the goblet should be drained. 
Large sales your ventures crown, and may your books 
Reflect the cordial promise of your looks." 



38 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

The correspondence with Mr. Hillard is one of 
the earliest date, and the friendship was sustained 
until the end. In 1856, upon the introduction of 
" the blue and gold " books, wherein the poets 
were so many of them conveniently enshrined by 
Mr. Fields, the following lines were again ad- 
dressed to him by Mr. Hillard : — 

TO J. T. F. 

u When your new Tennyson I bold, dear friend, 

Where blue and gold, like sky and sunbeam, blend, — 

A fairy tome — of not too large a grasp 

For queen Titania's dainty hand to clasp, — 

I feel fresh truth in the old saying wise, 

That greatest worth in smallest parcel lies. 

Will not the diamond, that fiery spark, 

Buy a whole quarry-full of granite stark ? 

Does not the flaunting holly-hock give place 

To that pale flower, with downward-drooping face, 

Which summer fashions of the moonbeams' sheen 

And sets in tents of purest emerald green? 

Well suits your book with this sweet month of June, 

When earth and sky are in their perfect tune. 

For, when I read its golden words, I think 

I hear the brown thrush and the bob-o-link ; — 

I hear the summer brook, the summer breeze, 

I hear the whisper of the swaying trees. 

Between the lines red roses seem to grow, 

And lilies white around the margin blow. 

Cloud-shadows swift across the meadow pass 

And fruit-trees drop their blossoms on the grass. 

Thanks to the poet, who to dusty hearts 

The balm and bloom of summer fields imparts ; 

Who gives the toil-worn mind a passage free 

To the brown mountain and the sparkling sea; 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 39 

Who lifts the thoughts from earth, and pours a ray 

Of fairy-land around life's common way. 

And thanks to you who put this precious wine, 

Red from the poet's heart, in flasks so fine, 

The hand may clasp them, and the pocket hold ; — 

A casket small, but filled with perfect gold. 

G. S. H. 

"June 6, 1856." 

Willis writes with his accustomed grace in 1848, 
" Your press is the announcing-room of the coun- 
try's Court of Poetry, and King People looks there 
for expected comers.' ' Again, " When are you 
coming this way ? Slide down upon us with the 
autumnal rainbow and see how lovely it is here." 

In response to an invitation extended him 
through Mr. Fields, to come to Boston to deliver a 
poem, Willis writes : — 

" Saturday. 

" My dear Fields, — I beg a thousand pardons for 
my neglect to reply to your letter. The truth is, I took 
the time to consider whether there could he such a thing 
as an effective spoken poem. I am satisfied, now, that 
my style depends so much on those light shades which 
would be lost on more ears than two at a time, that I 
should make an utter failure. I would risk even this, if 
it was not in Boston, for (to confess the " morsel under 
my tongue ") I have few plants growing in my hope- 
garden like that of being one day acknowledged among 
the Boston boys with whom I was snubbed and brought 
up, as a good fellow and worth taking back into their 
hearts. A failure would damage the growth of this. 



40 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

. So, dear Fields, make my thanks and excuses acceptable 
to the committee and believe me 

" Yours much indebted and most truly, 

" N. P. Willis. 

"J. T. Fields, Esq. 

" Remember me to Whipple. 

" What a ne plus ultra of a translation that is of 
4 Consuelo ' by Shaw. And what a delicious book it is. 
I have just finished it and am going to write a word 
or two about it for Morris. 

" Many thanks for your kindness to dear good Fanny 
Forester." 

In spite of his incessant occupation as a pub- 
lisher, Mr. Fields was continually writing and 
printing verses and jeux d' esprit in the current 
journals or magazines, or for occasions. Any con- 
tinuous literary work was of course out of the 
question, but such as he could do was done cheer- 
fully for others or to stop some gap. Few, almost 
none, of these early effusions has he wished to 
preserve, but it is interesting to note the activity 
of his powers. 

As early as September, 1838, we find him in- 
vited to deliver a poem before the Mercantile 
Library Society, and later the committee ask the 
favor of printing his " Poetical Address." Doubt- 
less before this as well as later, his pen was busy, 
indeed it was never idle. 

In the autumn of 1851, Mr. Fields left America 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 41 

for a prolonged visit in Europe. He wrote cheer- 
fully to Miss Mitford as usual, before his departure, 
informing her of his plans, which were to go di- 
rectly to the Continent (after a possible call at her 
cottage door), where he intended to remain until 
the following spring, when he hoped to visit Eng- 
land. He never referred in speech, and scarcely 
by letter, to his own grief, from the time he left his 
bedroom after the first terrible shock to the day 
of his death, never directly even to those nearest 
to him, except to whisper once his gratitude that 
he was to possess what he never again expected to 
enjoy. The tender letters written him from his 
friends at the time were carefully preserved, but 
all was silence. 

In the same letter to Miss Mitford already re- 
ferred to, he says : — 

" You ask me particularly about Hawthorne. He is 
young, I am delighted to say. His hair is yet untinged 
by Time's sure silver. ... A few days ago the author 
of ' The Scarlet Letter ' came to Boston after an absence 
of many months. Every eye glistened as it welcomed an 
author whose genius seems to have filled his native land 
quite suddenly with his fame. . . . He blushes like a 
girl when he is praised .... I shall send you shortly a 
new juvenile book from his pen, as fine reading, by the 
way, for grown people as I happen to remember from the 
press for many a day. . . . Cooper, the great novelist, is 
gone. He died a few weeks since at his residence in the 



42 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

State of New York. His fame belongs to his country, 
while his name is world-renowned." 

The spring of 1852 was passed in England, as he 
had proposed, and he writes again to Miss Mitford, 
first from Rome, later from Paris, and finally from 
Regent Street. 

In Rome he says : — 

"I can see the almond trees in full bloom from my 
window and hear the birds about the orange trees, but I 
shall be glad once more to hear the English tongue even 
in a bird's mouth, and look upon the hedges which skirt 
the lanes down which we rode that fine autumnal day 
which seems so long ago. ... I had a charming visit 
while in Paris, to the Brownings, and only regretted I 
could not see more of them. I was glad to find Mrs. 
Browning in better health than I anticipated and hope 
she will live to write many more great poems." 

Again in Paris he writes : — 

" Partly on my own account and something on yours 
(knowing your enthusiasm for the Bonapartes) I went 
to the President's ball. It was a splendid affair. ... I 
was looking intently at Jerome Bonaparte, who stood 
talking with General M., when the President himself, 
with Lady Cowley on his arm, came into the great hall 
and took his seat directly in front of the spot where I 
was standing. He looked pale, and although he bowed 
with a smile to those who stood near, I thought I dis- 
covered a deeper meaning in his look than he meant to 
be exhibited then and there. I cannot but think he is a 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 43 

man for the time and will show himself competent to 
carry out all his designs. His face I think better than 
his portraits. It is folly to call him ill-looking. ... I 
have seen a great genius since my last note, Rachel ; 
you may judge how delighted I was a few nights since 
to read her name underlined at the Theatre Frangais. 
The play was Diane, a new drama of the time of Louis 
XIII. When the curtain drew up she was discovered 
coming down the stairs of a rude cottage with the step 
of a queen. She advanced with a mien so noble and yet 
so natural — so simple and so regal at the same time, 
that I hardly knew which to admire more, the quiet or 
the majestic in her deportment. Throughout the whole 
drama she was magnificent. At one time she stood such 
a living monument of woe, that Niobe herself is not so 
drowned in sorrow as she appeared. I was charmed 
with this superb creature, and shall not soon forget her 
splendid manner when she replied to a young gallant in 
the first act as she was going off the stage. He followed 
her crying out, ' Ne saurai-je pas qui je salue ? ' She 
turned round very quietly and said in a voice, that made 
music of the reply, these simple words ' Uhe femme. 9 It 
was worth a voyage across the billowy Atlantic to hear 
that voice and see that manner. You remember Fuseli's 
remark, when some one in his hearing said the existence 
of the soul was a doubtful problem. Rachel might truly 
affirm, that, however badly off other people might be in 
that way, she had a soul. I hope some day you may have 
the opportunity of seeing this great creature on the stage. 
She is worthy of all the praise that has been lavished 
upon her. I understand she has had the good taste to 



44 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

preserve among the ornaments of her splendid salon, the 
poor little guitar which used to accompany her voice 
when a child she went about singing at the doors of the 
cafes on the Boulevards. 

" I am delighted at what you tell me about your por- 
trait and hope I may get an engraved copy to carry home 
with me. I have now hanging up in my little library 
room in Boston your likeness engraved for Henry Chor- 
ley's * Authors of England,' and there is a nice little 
niche for the engraving now on the tapis, wherein I hope 
to place it. In a few weeks I hope to find you in Swal- 
lowfield and as much improved in health as my heart 
could wish. 

" Very sincerely yours always, 

" J. T. Fields." 

" 72 Regent Street, London, May 21, 1852. 

" My dear Miss Mitford, — As soon as I sweep 
away this load of pressing business I shall run down to 
Swallowfield, and I must find you well again. Then 
we will talk over the contents of your kind letter re- 
ceived in Paris a few days ago, and which I did not 
answer as I knew I should so soon meet you again. 
Your requests about a portrait of Louis Napoleon and 
the Memoir of the President were curiously enough com- 
plied with before the receipt of your letter. I had al- 
ready packed away in my trunk a little bust of the 
Prince and one of Beranger for you, together with the 
Memoir, a recent one, and a copy of Galignani's edition of 
your ' Reminiscences.' This last is not yet published, 
but I got from the bindery a copy in advance, thinking 
you would like to know how you look across the channel. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 45 

When I go down to Swallowfield I will bring these with 
me. I cannot tell you how delighted I am in the perusal 
of your book, which I read in the cars between Paris and 
Boulogne. How happy you must be in the thought of 
what a world of pleasure you have given to your readers. 
I must not forget to tell you that I found letters in Lon- 
don from Holmes, Hawthorne, and Longfellow, all of 
whom are delighted with your praise. And I must not 
forget to say how grateful I am for the too kind manner 
in which my own name is mentioned. I see in the 
American papers your chapter on Webster is copied 
weekly everywhere. He cannot but be delighted with 
your charming account of his visit. 

" Hawthorne has just finished another romance. 
"Whipple, who has read the manuscript, says it is admira- 
bly done ; that it is full of thought and beauty, and pa- 
thos and humor. The story turns on the new ideas of 
the day. One of the characters is a 4 Woman's Rights 
Woman,' says Whipple, and although one is all along 
doubting her system, she is of such surpassing loveliness, 
in Hawthorne's description, that the reader falls in love 
with her person. The sharp, penetrating, pitiless scru- 
tiny of morbid hearts which Hawthorne is so celebrated 
for, appears in this new novel in some transcendent ex- 
amples. 

" I am glad to see that Holmes is to be immediately 
reprinted in London. Since you copied his 4 Punch- 
bowl' into your pages, that lyric has gone everywhere, I 
am told. Holmes writes me that he wishes to be most 
heartily remembered to you, and begs me to say how 
much he feels your kind mention of him. Hawthorne 



46 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

says, ' tell Miss Mitford I mean to write her a letter one 
of these days and thank her myself.' " 

Again he writes : — 

"June 24. 

" When I tell you I have eaten twenty-nine dinners 
out of the house where I lodge, during the past month, 
you will know how to pity me. A return to hard biscuit 
and beef on board ship will be a relief. But ah, these 
warm English hearts ! . . . De Quincey's daughter Mar- 
garet writes me from Lasswade (near Edinburgh) with 
reference to my ' Editorship ' as she calls my humble la- 
bors, and I think before I leave England I shall go down 
and see the author and his family. . . . Ah, how much 
I enjoy London ! Not the dinners and the opera sole- 
ly ; my tastes are low in some departments and what 
many others would call ungenteel I dote upon. For in- 
stance, I like those small specimens of humanity in the 
shape of ragged boys who sweep the crossings, and have 
established such an intimacy with them that in certain 
streets they scent my coming afar off, and run to receive 
my trifling gratuity with a grin of satisfaction that is 
perfectly delightful. It is my delight on returning from 
an evening party, on foot late at night and sometimes 
early in the morning, for Londoners keep untoward 
hours, to encounter a poor devil barefoot and hungry, and 
surprise him with a Niagara of hot coffee and a round of 
meat-stuffs ordered for him at a cheap establishment 
near Covent Garden, or in the Strand. One of these 
boys I picked up a few nights ago, sitting on a pavement 
smoking the end of a cigar which some passer-by had 
thrown into the street. He looked as he crouched along- 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 47 

side the wall like a bundle of rags smouldering away in 
the cold night air. I wish you could have seen those 
sausages descend into his poor empty stomach, and hear 
the gurgling of two pots of beer as they went down to 
join company with the solids ! This is my fun, better 
sometimes than sitting through a play or an opera. 

" I do not know how you will like Hawthorne's new 
book, but it seems to me (I have read a few sheets only) 
quite delightful in its way and full of fine pictures of 
New England scenery. 

" I must not forget to tell you what a charming morn- 
ing I had in Mr. Lucas's studio. . . . The portrait was 
not in his house ; it is still at the engravers. 

41 Pardon this long note and believe me, 

"Dear Miss Mitford, ever yours, 

" J. T. Fields." 

" I have not seen Mrs. Browning yet. ' Sordello ' 
himself I met a few days ago at Mr. Kenyon's, where I 
had the honor of being sandwiched between Carlyle and 
Landor at table. . . . While you were writing your note 
to me I was walking with De Quincey home to his cot- 
tage from Roslin Castle, where we had been spending the 
afternoon together. A more delightful day I do not re- 
member to have passed in this beautiful country. . . . 
He is a most courtly gentleman." 

In the autumn of 1852 Mr. Fields again re- 
turned to America, where he was beginning to be 
sadly missed at " The Old Corner.' ' The publish- 
ing business which he had enlarged and yet con- 
centrated so closely in Boston, began to need his 
hand at the ship's helm. 



48 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" Hazlitt's writings," he continues to Miss Mitford 
after his return, " have been all reprinted in America or 
I should at once set about it. De Quincey is still the 
rage and I have got two new volumes which I shall send 
you the very first opportunity. . . . That elegy on the 
death of Mr. Webster was written by my friend, T. 
W. Parsons, a fine poet who has done but little, yet 
everything well. Have you seen Longfellow's lines on 
the Duke? They are much admired here. Dear Dr. 
Holmes, who has just asked for you and desires his love, 
has been delighting all Boston with a most sparkling lec- 
ture on Poetry and Science. He will not publish or 
I would send it to you. I told Hawthorne of his Rus- 
sian eminence. He says 4 Give my love to my dear 
friend Miss Mitford and tell her I thank her heartily 

for all her kindness.' Mrs. S , Heaven forgive me, 

I have not called upon yet. Since my return home my 
friends have flocked about me so pressingly that I do not 
sleep or eat as I once did. However, next week I shall 

go to Cambridge and sit down with Mrs. S for a 

long chat. She is a charming person. As you refer to 
the ladies of England who have so modestly told us what 
a set of wretches we are in America, I must tell you of a 
paragraph which I introduced into a lecture a few weeks 
ago before the Boston Mercantile Library Association. 
' Our country is sure to advance even its present position 
if the Duchess of Sutherland and her illustrious coadjutors 
can only be persuaded to remove their satin slippers from 
the neck of the Republic' The allusion seemed to give 
the audience — I had 3,000 listeners — great fun. 

" Our President is only a General by appointment 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 49 

from his native State in a volunteer regiment, conse- 
quently lie is only a General pro tern, and may give up 
his honors in that way any week he chooses. ' How do 
you do, Captain,' said one Western man to another. 
' Call me Greneral, if you please, sir,' replied the man 
spoken to, — 4 I have killed a rattlesnake and am plain 
Captain no longer ! ' 

" How provoking it is that you do not own the copy- 
right of ' Our Village.' By this steamer we have ordered 
one thousand copies of 4 Bohn.' " 

" Yours, dear Miss Mitford, 

James T. Fields." 

"Boston, U. S. A., March 8, 1853. 

" My dear Miss Mitford : — I am beginning to 
feel sadly uneasy and fidgetty about these days. The 
truth is my English fever is most strong upon me. I 
want to turn my face toward the English land again and 
I see no signs as yet that I shall be able to do so. Not a 
day goes by but I think of the far-off country across the 
ocean. I open a book in my library room of an evening 
and try to read, but as I go on, straightway the printed 
page slips from my mental vision and I am in * distant 
climes and lands remote.' Now I am looking from the 
roadside on a cricket ground. There is a small pony 
chaise quietly resting on the opposite side of the way. 
A very dear friend of mine is talking cozily with other 
dear friends who cluster about her side. A gentleman 
on horseback is looking across the fields. Somebody 
says it is the author of ' Alton Locke.' I walk up to the 
aforesaid gentleman, but am disappointed. It is some 
4 



50 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

other fine-looking man who has come out to enjoy the 
day. There is a picturesque old mansion in sight. The 
air is clear and bracing and off we go to explore the 
grounds. Sam talks to us by the way of by-gone 
times when merry scenes were going on within the fine 
old house. Now all looks dull and dreary. There are 
dilapidated houses where the dogs used to live on ' the 
fat of the land.' Now the whole scene is« changed and 
the tall ancestral trees seem to sigh amid the desolation. 
Now I am riding through the Duke's grounds and the 
pony is full of spirit and dashes through the gates like 
mad. Cattle are grazing all around, and I can smell the 
hay among the meadows. Now I am sitting in your 
pleasant room looking out across the road. K. has sent 
away several carriages, and we all listen while you read 
to us dear friend Bennoch's charming May poem, ' And 
welcome in the glorious May.' I can hear it as distinctly 
as when we sat together that pleasant afternoon (it 
seems but yesterday) and heard your beautiful and 
never-to-be-forgotten reading of those verses. Now we 
are at your hospitable dinner table and I am trying to 
carve, an art I never shall learn. Then ( the carriage is 
ready ' and we say ' good-by,' and drive toward the 
station, talking of the happy hours we have spent with 
our dear friend, the lady of ' Our Village.' 

" Oh j those days ! When shall we all meet again un- 
der those glorious old trees and under your cottage roof ? 

" It seems as if I could not possibly get through the 
summer without taking the voyage once more. My 
friends hang on to the skirts of my coat and say, ' You 
shan't go again ! ' But I will. I want to see Swallow- 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 51 

field and Miss Mitford and that famous illustrated copy of 
the ' Recollections.' I want to shake off the Yankee dust 
for a season and revel in a good substantial English fog. 
I want to see English faces and hear English voices once 
more. In short, I want to be in England and embrace 
the whole Island ! I like England and I can't help it, 
and I don't want to help it ! Why could I not have 
been born with a stout traveling fortune, ample and suf- 
ficient for me to see the shores of Great Britain as often 
and as long as I would like to ? What a plague is this 
busy atmosphere of books all about us." . . . 

" Ever, my dear Miss Mitford, affectionately yours, 

James T. Fields." 

In June, 1854, Mr. Fields again sailed for 
Europe, but he became very ill and was carried 
ashore at Halifax. In writing to Miss Mitford of 
his disappointment, he enclosed some farewell lines 
addressed to him by T. W. Parsons the day he 
went on board the steamer. In October of that 
year, however, he writes again in a different vein, 
asking her " if she has room in her heart for one 
more American ? Her name is Annie Adams, and 
I have known her from childhood, and have held 
her on my knee many and many a time. Her fa- 
ther (and this must recommend her to your favor) 
is one of our leading physicians, and a great ad- 
mirer of Miss Mitford. ... On the 7th or 10th 
of next month we go to church." 



52 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

The Divine Disposer who " shapes our ends " 
had thus far denied something which seemed in- 
dispensable to his existence. He felt the power 
and sacred rest which a home can give as deeply 
as it is possible to understand it, but hitherto he 
had been turned, as it seemed, violently from such 
hope or rest to stand in the white light of the 
world. His gay temper and conversation allowed 
no one else to feel the void and unrest ; but when 
at last the doors of home opened to him he en- 
tered reverently, and with a tenderness which 
grew only with the years. What an exceptional 
experience, also, for a young girl, a younger mem- 
ber of a large family, with less reason for special 
consideration than any other person of the house- 
hold, to be swept suddenly out upon a tide more 
swift and strong and all-enfolding than her imagi- 
nation had foretold ; a power imaging the divine 
life, the divine shelter, the divine peace. The 
winds of heaven might not visit her too roughly, 
and every shadow must pass first through the 
alembic of his smile before it fell upon her. 
There was no more thought of Europe for the 
present ; by and by he wished his wife to go, and 
they would travel together. He desired nothing 
further for himself, working with fresh interest 
and vivacity over his plans for new books, and for 
the extension of influence and usefulness of the 
firm of Ticknor and Fields. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 53 

Mr. George William Curtis has lately portrayed 
with beautiful skill and feeling the publisher and 
friend as he knew him in these and previous years : 

" The annals of publishing and the traditions of pub- 
lishers in this country will always mention the little 
Corner Bookstore in Boston as you turn out of Wash- 
ington Street into School Street, and those who recall it 
in other days will always remember the curtained desk 
at which poet and philosopher and historian and divine, 
and the doubting, timid young author, were sure to see 
the bright face and to hear the hearty welcome of James 
T. Fields. What a crowded, busy shop it was, with the 
shelves full of books, and piles of books upon the coun- 
ters and tables, and loiterers tasting them with their 
eyes, and turning the glossy new pages — loiterers at 
whom you looked curiously, suspecting them to be mak- 
ers of books as well as readers. You knew that you 
might be seeing there in the flesh and in common clothes 
the famous men and women whose genius and skill made 
the old world a new world for every one upon whom 
their spell lay. Suddenly, from behind the green cur- 
tain, came a ripple of laughter, then a burst, a chorus ; 
gay voices of two or three or more, but always of one — 
the one who sat at the desk and whose place was behind 
the curtain, the literary partner of the house, the friend 
of the celebrated circle which has made the Boston of 
the middle of this century as justly renowned as the 
Edinburgh of the close of the last century, the Edin- 
burgh that saw Burns, but did not know him. That cur- 
tained corner in the Corner Bookstore is remembered 



54 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

by those who knew it in its great days, as Beaumont re- 
called the revels at the immortal tavern : — 

' ' What tilings have we seen 
Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been 
So nimble and so full of subtile flame, 
As if that every one from whence they came 
Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest! ' 

What merry peals ! What fun and chaff and story ! 
Not only the poet brought his poem there still glowing 
from his heart, but the lecturer came from the train 
with his freshest touches of local humor. It was the ex- 
change of wit, the Rialto of current good things, the hub 
of the hub. 

" And it was the work of one man. Fields was the 
genius loci. Fields, with his gentle spirit, his generous 
and ready sympathy, his love of letters and of literary 
men, his fine taste, his delightful humor, his business 
tact and skill, drew, as a magnet draws its own, every 
kind of man, the shy and the elusive as well as the gay 
men of the world and the self-possessed favorites of the 
people. It was his pride to have so many of the Amer- 
ican worthies upon his list of authors, to place there if 
he could the English poets and ' belles-lettres ' writers, 
and then to call them all personal friends. Next year it 
will be forty years since the house at the Corner Book- 
store issued the two pretty volumes of Tennyson's poems 
which introduced Tennyson to America. Barry Corn- 
wall followed in the same dress. They caught all the 
singing-birds at that corner, and hung them up in the 
pretty cages so that everybody might hear the song. 
Transcendentalism and ' The Dial ' were active also at 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 55 

the same time. The idyl of Brook Farm was proceed- 
ing in the West Roxbury uplands and meadows on the 
shores of the placid Charles. The abolitionists were 
kindling the national conscience at Chardon Street 
Chapel and Marlborough Chapel. Theodore Parker was 
appalling the staid pulpits and docile pews. There was 
a universal moral and intellectual fermentation, but at 
the Corner Bookstore the distinctive voice was that of 
1 pure literature ; ' and hospitable toward all, and with 
an open heart of admiration for the fervent reformers, 
Fields had also the most humorous appreciation of ' the 
apostles of the newness,' but minded with zeal what he 
felt to be especially his own business. 

"It was a very remarkable group of men — indeed, it 
was the first group of really great American authors — 
which familiarly frequented the corner as the guests of 
Fields. There had been Bryant and Irving and Cooper, 
and Halleck and Paulding and Willis in New York, but 
there had been nothing like the New England circle. It 
was that circle which compelled the world to acknowl- 
edge that there was an American literature. Of most 
of these authors the house at the corner came to be the 
publishers, and to the end they maintained the warmest 
relations with Fields, who was not their publisher only, 
but their appreciative and sympathetic friend." 

In spite of his pleasant preoccupations behind 
" the green curtain/' a whole new life began with 
his marriage. No threads of this unseen weaving 
were ever dropped or forgotten. The day seldom 
wore from end to end during all the years of his 



56 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

business life without some brief note or token 
sent homeward from his part of the city. "As 
this is a day to pick and choose and be dainty in 
the selection of a book for the fireside hours, I 
send you a couple of volumes more than you 
have in our bright room." Or, "It is such a 
fine walking day I shall call for you." Or again, 
" Here are three letters, they are only intended 
for your perusal. They are not well done, I 
fear ; but it is difficult to manage the pen over 
such a subject. A woman could have said what 
I wanted to say much better than I have done, 
but I doubt if any one could feel more in this 
sad business — " 

Within this note I find enclosed the two letters 
to which he refers. They were indeed intended 
only for the persons to whom they were addressed, 
but they may be of use or comfort now to some one 
else whose eye may chance to fall upon this page 
when the writer and those for whom they were 
intended have gone beyond and above the diffi- 
cult problems presented to them. 

"Boston, October 6, 1854. 

" My dear . Your letter has given me more real 

heart-grief than I express when I tell you it has cost me 
a sleepless night. But I know not what to say in reply 
to your communication. You ask my advice in a matter 
so delicate and unusual that I feel almost like asking you 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 57 

to release me from tendering a word of counsel. But 
our friendship of so many years, and the tender affection 
expressed in your letter, will not suffer me to be silent. 

" You say you have lost * the love of your husband, 
and that he no longer makes you his confidant or even 

his friend.' Do not, I pray you, my dear , hastily 

conclude on this point. A man's love is not quenched 
so suddenly. Do not mistake my meaning. I have al- 
ways been of the opinion that the affection of a man is 
equal, nay, may I say it, — stronger oftentimes than that 
of a woman. If F. does not evince the same fondness 
for your presence as formerly, and treat you with the 
same tender regard as of old, may he not be won back 
to your heart, and join his as fervidly to yours by a 
deeply expressed solicitude on your part to gain back the 
love of other days. It too often happens in married life 
that husband or wife do not come more than half way 
in reconciliation. It is hard, very hard to doubt and 
weep alone the loss of affection. Let me tell you what 
I would do if my case were yours, as you describe it. I 
would hang about my husband with a gentle kindness, 
and although I would not hide my grief for the loss I had 
felt, I would still be as cheerful and kind as I could be. 
Love begets love. Try to make home necessary to a 
man's happiness and you will almost always succeed. 
Your husband is a man of intellectual tastes and habits. 
Feel an interest in his pursuits and spring to his side 
with a smile and a kiss of welcome, for a sensitive shy 
scholar must appreciate this, and I am sure another in- 
fluence will be exerted in his bosom. I would not abate 
one jot of womanly tenderness in your daily life toward 



58 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

F., but I would rather increase in it. Depend upon it 
no man constituted as he is will repulse the feeling of a 
true wife. With regard to your suspicion that he has 
conceived a ' liking and perhaps a love ' for another, 
don't believe it. I know whom you mean and I know 
all her attractions for a student like F., but I also know 
the human heart. She is too vain and overbearing in 
her intellectual gifts to win his regard even. A poetical 
temperament like his clings to a warm nature and a 
simple, beautiful character rather than to a showy intel- 
lect and cold heart. You have every quality in the way 
of attraction that a man gifted as F. is demands in a 
woman. God bless you. I pray that all may yet be 
clear in your way of duty and love. 

" Yours affectionately, 

J. T. F." 

"Boston, October 8, 1854. 

" My dear Frank, — I am glad to hear from your 
welcome letter that you and yours are well again, that 
the cloud of sickness has been withdrawn from your 
dwelliog. In your prosperous country you cannot but 
succeed in your profession. ' Be industrious and you 
will be happy ' is a motto so strongly recommended in 
Gray's letters that I have never forgotten its meaning. 
Yon speak of 'jolly times' among the natives of your 
city, and days and nights of pleasant intercourse with 
your friends in the country. I am glad to hear, if you 
are happy, of your new friendships. 

" Dear Frank, did it ever occur to you how dependent 
a wife is on her husband's constancy at home ? Did it 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 59 

never strike you how strangely a word or a look falls on 
a woman's heart if wrongly applied ? We men, knock- 
ing about the world and jostled by one another, are apt 
to forget how much a word signifies or how much a tone 
implies. I let fall this sentence simply because your let- 
ter led me to suppose your pleasures were mostly away 
from your own dwelling. Come now, my dear fellow, 

let us be honest with each other. is unhappy that 

you do not seem to her the same as in former days, the 
affectionate lover of times past. You must have seen 
unquiet thoughts were gathering in her heart. Be a man, 
my dear Frank, and heal the temporary wound that has 
been inadvertently opened in her young bosom. The 
female character demands something more than the forms 
of life. I hold that husband and wife should be lovers 
all their days. Why not ? You speak of your ' hum- 
drum life at home.' This ought not so to be, my dear 
fellow. In your beautiful library, beside that glorious 
well-filled book table, the evening lamps lighted, your 
sweet wife sewing opposite to your chair, listening to 
your rich voice as you read to her from Tennyson or one 
of your own ballads, — there is no hum-drum in all this, 
depend upon it, for it will last when your out-of-door 
friends fail and disappointment comes in to break up your 
intimacies. Don't call me foolish and think me officious. 
I love you too well not to drop a word of suggestion even 
in your excellent heart. 

" All your friends here are well. Longfellow finds 
plenty to do, and Lowell is probably laying up treasures 
for the Lowell Institute, where he lectures this year. 
" Ever yours, my dear Frank, 

"J. T. F." 



60 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Five busy, peaceful years at home succeeded 
his marriage. These years included a period of 
large literary activity among our American au- 
thors, and Mr. Thackeray's second visit to our 
shores. Closer friendships were formed, partly by 
means of a social club, then first established, and 
visits to New York created ties between Mr. Bry- 
ant and his family, Mr. and Mrs. Godwin, and 
Washington Irving. In Boston, Mr. Emerson was 
delivering his wonderful lectures, surely never to 
be forgotten, — this master and helper, with the 
voice and manner of a lover and a seer ; and Starr 
King was preaching at Hollis Street Church, and 
illumining the air with his bright presence. 

After collecting books enough, " to read on the 
voyage," — to answer for three voyages, as his 
wife thought, — the midsummer of 1859 was passed 
in Europe, chiefly in England. In an old diary I 
find : — 

" London, June 27. Mr. Hawthorne and Julian (an 
interesting boy) came to breakfast. Hawthorne wishes 
us to take a villa near Florence, where they lived ; he 
said the bells of the city sounded exquisitely there, — 
besides the place was haunted ! Talked nervously about 
his new romance, the muscles of his face twitching, and 
with lowered voice ; he thought some time he might print 
his journal also. . . . 

" Mr. and Mrs. Bennoch kindly obtained places for us 
at lunch at the Lord Mayor's. The occasion was made 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 61 

in order to present Durham's bust of the Queen to 
Madame Goldschmidt. Her sweet face was calm, yet 
there were unmistakable signs of deep emotion. A gen- 
tleman, a relative of Florence Nightingale, spoke of the 
happiness Madame Goldschmidt had given Miss Night- 
ingale by her interest in the cause. (Madame Gold- 
schmidt had arranged and sung at a concert, the pro- 
ceeds of which were very large, and devoted to the care 
of the soldiers at the Crimea.) Mr. Grote, the historian, 
also spoke. . . . 

" Friday, the 21th. Mr. Tennyson is in London, at 
the Temple. . . . Went to see Robson in ' The Por- 
ter's Knot.' He is a man of original power. . . . The 
second time we saw Robson, he played 4 Uncle Zach- 
ary ' and ' Mr. Benjamin Bobbin.' Nothing could be 
more touching than the former characterization. When 
Uncle Zachary comes up to London in his best clothes, 
with that most excellent Tabitha (Mrs. Leigh Murray), 
to visit 'the little 'un,' the mixture of pathos and comi- 
cality seems almost too much to endure ; also in the 
drunken scene, when it becomes so unfortunately easy 
for him to see people and things as they really are, and 
he recognizes Wiggins the barber under his stately dis- 
guise ! It is inimitable, indescribable, unrivaled ! . . . 
Mr. Dickens came in the morning, . . . Arrived at Mr. 
Thackeray's, . . . passed the evening with Mr. and 
Mrs. Martin. ... It was nearly eleven o'clock before 
we reached Mrs. B.'s house, where we were to meet 
Elizabeth Sheppard, the author of c Charles Auches- 
ter.' "... 



62 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

This interview was the first and the last we 
ever enjoyed with this interesting woman, — she 
died shortly after. Not, however, until we had 
received notes and manuscripts from her hand, 
chiefly short stories, which were printed in the 
" Atlantic Monthly," and some stories for chil- 
dren. Beside these, the friend who was con- 
stantly by her side during the last six years of 
her life frequently wrote, giving us particulars of 
Miss Shepparcl's condition. This friendship seems 
to have been one of those absorbing relations be- 
tween two women which are occasionally to be 
seen. In one of her first letters this friend writes : 
" I must feel for those who appreciate one whom 
I venerate as I do my only friend. . . . She has 
been my companion since I was ten years old." 
In speaking of the article which appeared in the 
" Atlantic Monthly/' after Miss Sheppard's death, 
she writes : — 

" Will you allow me to say that the notice of the 
i Author of Charles Auchester,' considered merely as a 
composition, is perfection, — as a criticism, it is most 
subtle and powerful, and could only come from the pen 
of an accomplished writer, showing, as it does, that mi- 
nute appreciation of difficulties surmounted and beau- 
ties achieved, which only the initiated can display; but 
more than all, it touches so tenderly and reverently the 
memory of herself and her writings, that it renders any 
comment unnecessary. . . . There is only one trifling 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 63 

mistake, which I am sure you will forgive me for rectify- 
ing. I allude to the surmise that Miss Sheppard was not 
a great reader. It is, indeed, a perfectly harmless error, 
as it proves how perfect her taste must have been, and 
shows she had that charm as an author which is alike 
the test of good writing and good breeding, — an absence 
of all mannerism. But she was indeed and truly a book- 
worm : she read everything, or rather devoured every- 
thing, from the most abstruse works, such as Gall's and 
Reichenbach's (taking in all metaphysical writings) the- 
ology, occult books, history and travels, physiology, poe- 
try, children's story books, etc., and she read in French, 
German, and Latin with equal ease ; nothing escaped 
her. Yet again you are right in saying she could not be 
called a student, for (setting aside all partial views 
which I might be supposed to entertain) she made all 
information her own as if by magic, and her memory was 
wonderful. As a child of eight years old she learned 
4 Childe Harold ' through, in twice reading it, during 
play hours ; Shelley's ' Prometheus Unbound ' as quick- 
ly ; and everything, by the same kind of intuition, she 
mastered in the spirit while others were hammering 
away at the letter. Goethe and Schiller she translated 
from with ease at fifteen, and amused her teacher by 
writing long German critiques and imaginary magazine 
articles as an exercise. 

" I mention these particulars knowing you must like 
to hear everything about her that I can tell. Also I 
approach the latter part of her dear life with a cowardly 
sickness at the heart, which is only like ' life in death.' 
Now I will endeavor to answer every point of your let- 
ter without delay. 



64 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" She often talked of you and . Her sufferings 

made all reading and writing impossible for some time 
before her death. I inclose a little sketch in her own 
handwriting, which you may like to keep. . . . For the 
poems, I have quantities. . . . 

" No stranger ever touched her or looked at her, or 
knew anything about her. Thank God ! We were by 
ourselves till the last few hours of her life, when a dear 
Hebrew cousin of mine, who knew her intimately and 
loved her as a brother, came into the room. ... To 
have had her to talk to, to consult on every intellectual 
subject, leaves me in that sense alone, now she is gone. 
. . . You made a good guess at Cecilia." . . . 

Several manuscript poems are found among 
these letters and papers. One is headed " Ex- 
tracts from Memorials of the Flight of Mendels- 
sohn," but they seem to be productions chiefly of 
her early youth, and such as would not advance 
the maturer reputation of " Charles Auchester." 
Personally she was not handsome, but with a fine 
brow and presence, sensitive, and refined. 

The diary continues : — 

" June 3(M. Drove to Hammersmith, where we 
found Leigh Hunt and his two daughters awaiting us. 
It was a very tiny cottage, with white curtains and flow- 
ers in the window, but his beautiful manner made it a 
rich abode. The dear old man talked delightfully about 
his flowers, calling them 'gentle household pets.' He 
told us also about Shelley, declaring it was impossible 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 65 

for his loving nature to hate any one, yet once he said 
' Hunt, we write love songs, why should n't we write 
hate songs.' He said he meant to, sometime, poor fel- 
low, added our host. Shelley disliked the second Mrs. 
Godwin, particularly, believing her to be untrue. He 
used to say, when he was obliged to dine with her, he 
4 would lean back in his chair and languish into hate.' 
' No one could describe Shelley,' continued Leigh Lunt, 
' he was always to me as if he were just arrived from 
the planet Mercury, bearing a winged wand tipped with 
flame.' ... 

" P. J. Bailey, the author of i Festus,' came to lunch. 
Fine brow and head. He is a student by nature, and 
confessed to his hatred of crowds. He told us he passed 
two charming evenings with Hawthorne, who did not 
know him nor discover him to be a writer. ... 

" Went to Cheltenham to see Captain Robertson, the 
father of Frederick Robertson of Brighton. Saw the 
various portraits of Robertson, also the few notes and 
papers remaining in the hands of his parents. Captain 
Robertson has made extracts from his son's sermons, 
which will be published by Ticknor and Fields for the 
benefit of the children. Mrs. R. a most lovely woman, 
such as I hoped to find the mother of Robertson. She 
gave me her son's history. . . . They have lost four 
daughters also. . . . 

" Later Captain Robertson wrote : ' What you say of 
your being continually bereft of your copies of the ser- 
mons is gratifying indeed. ... I fear the publication of 
the letters on theological and other subjects may be de- 
layed. I hear they are of great interest. Indeed, the 
5 



66 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

dear departed told me they might some day be pub- 
lished. . . . The last of the Napiers is gone. You rec- 
ollect seeing the portrait of my friend, that glorious sol- 
dier, Sir Charles Napier, in our sitting-room. ... In 
the early part of February, as I had taken my seat in 
the College Chapel, a little before three P. M., I had a 
mental vision that Sir William was at that moment 
dying. Next morning I said, ' Mark my words, Sir 
William Napier died yesterday afternoon while I was 
in chapel. . . . Tuesday morning brought a letter saying 
that Sir William died on the Sunday afternoon without 
a sigh. Two other instances in my life have occurred 
of this spiritual communication with me of departing 
friends, so that I can have no doubt of the intercourse 
of spirits in this nether world ; and I think we may see 
from Holy Writ that even departed spirits have held 
communion with those not yet glorified. . . . Sir Wil- 
liam said he had a second self following him continually, 
and essaying to be joined to him. I have no doubt that 
' the second self ' of which Sir William spoke, was the 
one, to use the words of the sermons, attendant on a life 
of spirituality : ' A living Redeemer stands beside him, 
goes with him, talks with him, as a man with his friend.' 
. . . I have had some most interesting and extraordi- 
nary letters sent me, to be added to the forthcoming vol- 
ume of my son's letters. What editions have the Ser- 
mons reached in Boston ? Do my dear friends indulge 
me occasionally with a few lines. ... I am seventy- 
three years old, and am anxiously looking forward to the 
publication of my son's correspondence. 

" I received lately a letter from a Mr. , a stranger 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 67 

to me, whose name is a household word at Brighton, say- 
ing, ' Bigotry and prejudice prevented me ever hearing 
your son preach. I have now read his works (and by way 
of amend), have had a marble bust executed (from a cast 
taken after death), and have had it put up in the Pavilion', 
— thus corroborating what the ' Saturday Review ' said a 
year or two ago, ' Many a man either in secret or in public 
has been constrained to do penance at the graves of Ar- 
nold or Robertson of Brighton.' In fact, the voice from 
the grave is doing more than even the voice from his pul- 
pit. ... I am glad to find the approbation you speak of 
regarding the Corinthians. ... I have the Boston edi- 
tions of all the other works, and I hope to have them in 
every tongue in which they shall appear. I have a Ger- 
man copy of the first volume published at Manheim, an 
English edition by Tauchnitz of Leipsic ; and I hope 
soon to have the sermons in French, as they are coming 
out in Paris ; also two of them, ' The Glory of the Di- 
vine Son,' and c The Glory of the Virgin Mother,' which 
are translated into Italian for distribution as tracts 
over Italy. . . . 

The diary continues : — 

" Arrived at Cleve Tower — the residence of Sydney 
Dobell. Mr. Dobell came down the hill to greet us, ac- 
companied by his fine deerhound, a gift from the family 
of Flora Macdonald. We clambered up the little lane, 
fascinated by his talk, and soon wholly at our ease. An 
interesting and delightful home. Mr. and Mrs. Dobell 
are of the same age. Engaged at fifteen and married at 
twenty, they are, — which, is not always true of such 



68 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

early marriages, — deeply attached. Alas ! they are nei- 
ther of them in good health. . . . We slept at the cottage 
in the garden, with a lovely panorama stretching far and 
silently below. . . . We can never forget the wonderfully 
varied flow of Dobell's conversation.' . . . ' Came to dine 
in Magdalen College, Oxford, in one of the queer old 
rooms (the place was built in 1485), with a cider cup 
in the middle of the table quite as old as the College, 
of silver overlaid with gold. Heard C. R.'s interesting 
talk. . . . He finished reading to us that night, his last 
new story, ' A Good Fight.' 

" He has a cheerful, affectionate smile, and seems truly 
beloved by all about him. . . . 

" Zurich, September 1. — This evening the news of 
Leigh Hunt's death reached us. It came most unex- 
pectedly, following closely upon his last letter." 

Unhappily the letter in question I do not find : 
only two or three notes full of personalities, which 
are not possible to reproduce here. 

From early youth Mr. Fields suffered from pros- 
trating headaches, lasting from twenty-four to 
forty-eight hours, when he would lie pale and 
cold, and conscious only of intense agony. Noth- 
ing could be found to arrest them — hot and cold 
baths and inhalations of ether being only useful 
palliatives. The climate of Switzerland was more 
conducive to them apparently than that of Eng- 
land, but no change seemed to prevent their occa- 
sional recurrence. Only those persons, — and alas ! 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 69 

they are too many, — who suffer in this way know 
all that the word "headache" signifies! How 
many good days and good things lost! For those 
who watch by the bedside, also, their part is not 
to be forgotten. The interrupted plans to be 
explained, the disappointed persons to be satis- 
fied, the letters to be answered, and above all 
the utter stillness to be preserved at all hazards; 
the word " headache " is full of significance to 
them and often full of awe, bringing them face to 
face with the sudden semblance of death. No 
habitude can make the coming less terrible. 
From the diary : — 

" Paris, December 18, 1859. — A sadly eventful 
week. The news of Washington Irving's death and 
of De Quincey's reached us on two successive days, 

and on the third 1 . . . Met Mr. Thackeray on 

the Boulevard, — like his old self and delighted to be in 
Paris. ' Father Prout ' (Mr. Mahoney) held him by 
the arm. At night, dining at the ; Trois Freres,' whom 
should we see but Thackeray again. He came and sat 
with us, chatting during the evening in his inimitable 
way. He said Father Prout was * good but dirty ! ' As 
we parted, he shouted ' Good-by, neighbor,' from down 
the Arcades in his own gay fashion." . . . 

" Florence, February. Drove to call upon Walter 

1 The space which is not filled signifies the death of John Brown, 
and the unspeakable sorrow and fear for the future of our country, 
which took possession of every American. 



70 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Savage Landor. He remembered Iris friend of ten years 
ago perfectly, and his reception was most cordial. ' Ah ! ' 
said he, ' I am eighty-six now, and forget everything. I 
can't remember the name of my new book published the 
other day by Nichol in London. Deuce take it ! ' Talk- 
ing of Louis Napoleon and of Mrs. Browning's faith in 
him, he said, 4 If that woman should put her faith in a 
man as good as Jesus, and he should become as wicked 
as Pontius Pilate, she would not change it. No ! not 
wicked as Pilate, because he was n't so bad, perhaps ; he 
fulfilled the laws of his country only, but any wretch 
we might name.' He has around him but a handful of 
pictures from his large collection. They are mostly at 
his villa, now occupied by his son. . . . He showed us 
what he believed to be original portraits of Petrarch's 
Laura and her husband, and a fine head by Salvator 
Rosa. He said the whole collection was the finest private 
gallery of old paintings in the world except that of the 
King of Bavaria, and would we go out to see them with- 
out giving his name ? The name might make the pic- 
tures inaccessible. 

" He spoke of George Washington as the greatest hero 
in the noble galaxy. ' He had a large hand,' he said, 
4 which is an excellent sign. Assassins have small hands. 
Napoleon, the most wholesale of assassins, had a very 
small hand.' ... ■ 

" Dined with Mr. Landor ; were waited upon with 
wonderful tact by Wilson, an old friend and servant of 
Mrs. Browning. A missing spoon would have been quite 
sufficient to cause the thunderbolts of wrath to descend, 
which seem to stand ever ready at the smallest bidding 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 71 

of this old man. Fortunately the regiment of spoons 
and forks was unbroken, and all went smoothly. Wilson 
had reserved a little surprise for him in a dish of eignale 
which he said was certainly the best thing in the world. 
The deep rich purple of the Montepulciano wine re- 
called to his mind a song of Redi, which he repeated 
most musically. Then he told us how Italian wines 
had degenerated, and of once meeting a man in his 
travels whom he asked to dine with him at a way sta- 
tion. ' Sir,' said he, ' I fear if you knew my trade 
you would not ask me.' 'Pray what may that be?' 
said Landor. ' A wine-taster, sir.' ' Oh ! then come 
in by all means. I follow that trade myself sometimes. 
And so,' continued Landor, ' I learned something in 
our after-dinner talk, which is, that powdered orris-root 
put into good claret will make fine Burgundy. Two 
teaspoonfuls dissolved in brandy will work the won- 
drous charm. ... I have seen some famous people in 
my time, and not the least among them was Kosciusko. 
A young girl who had heard him say he would like 
to see me brought me to his door. She knocked and 
said, " General Kosciusko, I have brought a friend to 
see you." "I am sorry, my dear," he answered, "but 
I can see no one." " I knew you wished to meet Mr. 
Landor " — " What Landor " — and in one instant he 
started from his couch and came forward to embrace 
me. He had been severely wounded on the head, and 
his pale face, bound about with broad black bands, 
gave him a look of deathly whiteness. He was read- 
ing, as he lay, a volume of my poems, and called my 
attention to the coincidence Garibaldi is the 



72 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

greatest man of modern times,' he went on to say ; ( he 
it is who has saved Italy, he has done all that is done, he 
is the regenerator and savior of this distracted land. I 
hope to see him in Florence before long ; he writes me to 
that effect.' 

" While he was talking thus his grandchild came in, 
bringing him some trifling gift. At once he was like a 
child with her. He seemed perfectly happy to hold her 
on his knee and watch her playful ways. 

" I asked if he ever met Byron in Italy. No, he 
said, because some speech of his was repeated once to 
Byron which put him in a great rage ; B. wished to chal- 
lenge him, but on receiving the information that Mr. 
Landor was quite ready, and a much better shot than 
himself, nothing ever came of the proposed rencontre. 
. . . Before parting, Mr. Landor took from his walls a 
painting which he believed to be an original Guido and 
presented it to me. . . . Yesterday Mr. Landor took the 
pains to walk round to make me a visit. He had not 
walked so far for an age, he said. His little dog ' Giallo ' 
came with him. 4 Ah, dear,' he said to him, ' I wish 
they would make a collar for the Pope, these people, and 
give me a piece of it to put round your neck.' ' 

I find only two notes of Mr. Landor ; they were 
written after this period, chiefly about the publi- 
cation of his books. There were many others. I 
remember them especially, because he became 
very angry with Mr. Fields for withholding what 
he calls " His Defense," from the public. This 
was an unfortunate paper, written in his extreme 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 73 

age, giving the details of a quarrel he had with 
a lodging-house keeper. It was sad enough to 
have such a paper in existence, but it was an act 
of the truest kindness to keep it from the public. 
Often Mr. Fields would say, laughingly, " How I 
wish poor Landor could be translated before he 
has time to write me again about his Defense." 
Unfortunately he lived long enough to be very 
angry with this friend as with so many others. 
Before matters came to this conclusion, however, 
the two notes at least, to which I have referred, 
were received ; the rest, like so much else of in- 
terest in epistolary form, seem to have been 
plucked away by those devourers of the literary 
land — autograph hunters. One of these brief 
letters runs as follows : — 

" My deae, Sir, — I am reminded of the hazard you 
offered to take in the publishing of my Latin poems. 
They would occupy about seventeen pages. I had just 
sent them to my friend Mr. Hare. Intelligence has 
this day reached me that he is somewhere on his trav- 
els. My parcel is not likely to follow him. Now, if 
you think it convenient to publish them, the peril would 
be less by the addition of a hundred pages more, partly 
poetry and partly prose, including my Defense, which 
is far more important to my fame than any other ad- 
dition. Our friend Mr. Browning will show you a 
specimen of the poetry, which, I hear, does me no dis- 
credit. In my hands is much more of it, certainly not 



74 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

worse in the more important part. Some portions have 
been published of the prose. I would rather that you 
should possess these different pieces than any other pub- 
lishers. I desire no advantage from them. If you 
think them worth your attention, I will transcribe them 
legibly. 1 . . . 

" Very truly yours, 

"Walter Savage Landoe. 

" Feb. 2. Via Nunciatina 2671, Florence. 
" My ' Honores ' are not come." 

This was the period of Mr. Fields's first intimate 
acquaintance with Charlotte Cushman, a woman 
of great energy and ability. Many of the pleas- 
antest days in Rome that winter were passed un- 
der her roof and at her table. Here was to be 
seen, from day to day, everybody of interest either 
among the residents in Rome or the chance vis- 
itors to that city. Her dramatic talent and her 
courage made her a power in the social circle. 
Miss Cushman was a keen observer and apprecia- 
tor of that disinterested power of doing for others, 
which was one of the distinguishing characteristics 
of her friend's disposition. It is amusing to see 
how full her letters are of suggestions for forward- 
ing her own plans or those of others in whom she 
was interested. 

1 The idea of the publication of this book was given up by Mr. 
Fields because of Mr. Landor's insistance on the subject of The 
Defense. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 75 

" A thousand thanks about the something for me to 
read next season. 4 Show, show, show ! ' It would have 
rejoiced your sympathetic soul to have seen 2,000 people 
under the influence of the ' Young Gray Head.' . . . 
You would have seen the reward of your search, and 
in pointing it out to me as a reading." 

" I want very much to introduce to you the bearer of 
this, . . . and you will make something of him, . . . for 
you seem to have the power to make of people what 
you will. I think you are the great original philoso- 
pher's stone." . . . 

Again she writes : — 

" I want you to come to see me and give me some 
vitality. ... I want to be taken up bodily and made 
to do whatever is right, and good, and pleasant. . . . 
We unite in declaring you are the most wonderful fellow 
for finding out just what will suit the friends you love 
and honor with your gifts. I sit down with double-bar- 
reled determination to write and say I am keeping well, 
seeming to contradict the ' malignancy ' of disease which 
my surgeon feared for me. . . . Tell me one thing. 
Do the lines in the 4 Adonais ' of Shelley, beginning at 
stanza 31, ' Midst others of less note,' etc., refer to By- 
ron ? or to whom ? Please tell me. ... I know you are 
very busy, and I would not trouble you, but we cannot 
get to any action save through your personal press- 
ure. ... I will beg you to assume this responsibility. 
. . . E. S. has made such a lovely little figure of the 
Angel of Youth, . . . and a colossal head of the orig- 
inal (secesher, I call it) Rebel, ' The Archangel Ruined ' 



76 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

as she calls it, alias Lucifer, which is full of power, and 
ought to be ordered by somebody at home. . . . How 
wonderful are the ' Biglow Papers ; ' there is more said 
in those papers than has been said by any writer and 
speaker yet." 

The diary continues : — 

" Came to Jermyn Street. When Walter Scott was 
in London he always lived in this street, usually at the 
Cherry Hotel, just opposite." 

" Met Mr. Edward Jesse at the British Museum at 
one o'clock. Through him we were able to see and un- 
derstand many things of which we should otherwise have 
been ignorant. He introduced us to Professor Owen, 
who kindly escorted us over the department in which he 
is chiefly interested. Mr. Jesse is over eighty years old, 
but hale and hearty." 

A few extracts from the correspondence with 
this aged naturalist may not be out of place here. 
Mr. Jesse's books have given him a niche with 
lovers of out-of-door life and students of natu- 
ral objects. 

" East Sheen, Mortlake, Surrey, 1854. 

" My dear Me. Fields : I am become an old fellow 
and do not much like to look into futurity, as having any 
certainty of a prolonged existence, but if I am alive 
next year you have not any one in England who will be 
more glad to see you than myself. ... I send you my 
last note from Mr. Mitford, received to-day. He alludes 
to a large mass of papers of Shenstone the poet, now in 
my possession. I am afraid that the unfair attack made 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 77 

upon him by Dr. Johnson in his c Lives of the Poets ' has 

done him an irreparable injury, though Shenstone was a 

charming poet as well as letter- writer, and I have many 

of his unpublished letters. 

" I will send you my ' Country Life ' as you desire. 

Murray calls it a third edition, that he might introduce 

the prints of former editions, but in fact nearly the whole 

of the matter is new." 

"Brighton, 1862. 

" Old age creeps upon me very fast. I am rapidly 
advancing to my eighty-fourth year. ... It is time to 
thank Mr. Flint for his beautiful and most interesting 
work. It beats any of our modern works in binding, 
printing, and paper. The subjects are most carefully 
colored, and it is altogether a work that does its author 
the greatest credit, and gave the recipient the greatest 
pleasure. . . . We are very comfortably settled at this 
place, though I miss our pretty cottage and its garden, 
but I feel that I am doing some good among the fishing 
population of Brighton, to whom I continue to give lec- 
tures, chiefly on Natural History, and which, when pub- 
lished, I shall hope to send you. . . . 

" Professor Owen has been giving a very interesting 
lecture here to a large audience. In the course of it he 
did me the great honor to say that he was indebted to 
my earlier works for his first love of Natural History. 
This was a pleasing compliment from the first Naturalist 
in Europe. . . . Mr. Agassiz' illustrated catalogue is a 
curious and valuable book. Do you claim him as an 
American ? " 

Again we find in the diary : — 



78 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" Our kind friend Mr. Flower, of Stratford, accom- 
panied us to the door of Joseph Severn the artist, and 
friend of Keats. We found Severn a man of kindly 
nature with true devotion to his art. ' How strange 
it is,' he said, 'that we never tire of our labor! I 
have enjoyed working upon this picture more, I think, 
than upon any other in my life, and last summer I used 
to get up at six o'clock to steal the flowers from the Park 
to paint from.' 1 . . . He has just finished a picture of 
Keats's tomb by moonlight. It is filled with all the ten- 
der feeling for the spot which haunts his heart. 2 He 
showed us a letter, the last Keats ever wrote, in which he 
says his pain at parting from Miss Brawne would cause 
death to hasten upon him, but he never wrote a line, 
nor did Severn ever hear him speak a word, to intimate 
that newspaper criticism had caused him mortal grief. 
Severn told us several incidents showing the exquisite 
kindliness of Keats's nature, and while he told them the 
unbidden tears would overflow his eyes. ' One day,' he 
said, ' when Keats was dining with one of the Royal 
Academicians whose picture had been refused, while 
Severn's was admitted, the conversation turned upon 
this subject, and some one declared in a loud voice that 
Severn was an old man whose pictures had been sent and 
refused every year until this one was finally accepted 

1 Mr. Severn was at this time over seventy years old. 

2 I find this description of the picture in Mr. Severn's handwrit- 
ing : ' ' The scene is moonlight at the Pyramid of Cams Cestius, and 
a Roman Pastore is resting and sleeping against the poet's tomb, 
whilst a moonlight ray illuminates his face, and thus faintly realizes 
the story of Endymion. On the tomb is the inscription, ' Here lies 
one whose name is writ in water.' " 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 79 

out of charity. Keats rose upon hearing this, declared 
Severn to be a young man who had never before sent a 
picture to the Academy, and a friend of his. " I can no 
longer sit," he said, " to hear his name calumniated in 
this manner without one person to join me in defense of 
the truth." Saying this he seized his hat and abruptly 
retreated from the room.' " 

There are a few letters from Mr. Severn before 
me, and although we may recognize the truth 
expressed in an article printed just after Mr. 
Severn's death, u that he does not appear under 
his own name in any biographical dictionary/' 
yet when all biographical dictionaries have floated 
into oblivion, Shelley's words will crown him with 
an aureole. In the preface to the " Adonais," the 
poet has written, after speaking of Severn's de- 
votion to Keats, — 

" Had I known these circumstances before the com- 
pletion of my poem, I should have been tempted to add 
my feeble tribute of applause to the more solid recom- 
pense which the virtuous man finds in the recollection 
of his own motives. Mr. Severn can dispense with 
a reward from c such stuff as dreams are made of.' His 
conduct is a golden augury of the success of his future 
career. May the unextinguished spirit of his illustrious 
friend animate the creations of his pencil, and plead 
against oblivion for his name." 

I quote from Mr. Severn's letters : — 



80 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

"British Consulate, Rome. 

" You will be interested by the romantic incident 
in my ' Keats paper,' of my charming meeting with 
the poet's sister in Rome, and that we have become 
like brother and sister. She lives here with her Spanish 
family ; her name is Llanos ; she was married to a distin- 
guished Spanish patriot and author, and has two sons 
and two daughters, one of whom is married to Brock- 
man, the Spanish director of the Roman railways. 

" She has been so kind as to get me from Madrid 
some fifty letters of her illustrious brother the poet, but 
as they were addressed to her when she was a little girl, 
they are not so interesting as his published letters. . . . 

"I am officious Qsie) representative for all the liber- 
ated Italian nations, and in my one year's consulate I 
have been able to liberate, indirectly, some fifty-five suf- 
fering political prisoners. The state of things at this 
moment would form a romance." 

Again : — 

" I am glad you saw my posthumous portrait of Keats. 
It was an effort to erase his dead figure from my mem- 
ory, and represent my last pleasant sight of him." 

Finally, on New Year's Day, 1879, from Eome, 
Scala Dante (when eighty-five years old), he 
writes : — 

" To begin with Keats, I am anxious to know your 
opinion of the thirty-nine letters to Fanny Brawne, which 
I confess to you gave me great pain. . . . Lord Hough- 
ton's Life I admire very much, except that he has most 
obstinately given the poet blue eyes, whereas over and 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 81 

over again, I told him that the poet's eyes were hazel 
brown, all his family having blue or gray eyes, and I 
have always considered that it was a trait of nature to 
characterize the poet. ... I am still at work, occupied 
on my Marriage of Cana, or the miracle of the wine. 
... I cannot finish without alluding to the wonderful 
translation of Dante by Longfellow, which I am now 
reading, and which I consider the first translation made 
by any poet. 

" Good-by, my dear friend. 

" Your ever faithful 

"Joseph Severn." 

It would be a work of supererogation, after Mr. 
Fields's own reminiscences of Barry Cornwall, to 
recall further particulars regarding him, or mem- 
ories of his hospitable home. Mr. Coventry Pat- 
more writes in his memorial volume to Mr. Procter : 
"Among his friends in later life no one seems to 
have won from him so much genial confidence and 
self -communication as Mr. Fields, to whose charm- 
ing papers the reader may be referred for more 
information about the poet's ways and opinions 
than is to be found elsewhere." 

This acknowledged power to win " genial confi- 
dence and self -communication " must excuse, if 
excuse be needed, the publication in these pages 
of so many fragments from the correspondence of 
various persons. It is curious how differently the 
same nature unfolds to different correspondents. 



82 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

We may learn to know a friend by what he un- 
consciously draws from others almost as well as 
by his own conscious expression. 

The diary continues : " Drove to Lasswade to 
see the daughters of De Quincey." It is impossi- 
ble to reproduce or to quote from the private let- 
ters of these ladies, but it is most interesting to 
see their affection for their father and the care 
they took of him. They were of valuable assist- 
ance to Mr. Fields while he was editing De Quin- 
cey's works, giving him the dates when certain 
papers were written, and hunting up many details 
which would have been difficult if not impossible 
to discover otherwise, with the ocean rolling be- 
tween him and the libraries where he must have 
searched. Very tender, grateful, and sparkling 
letters these ladies wrote, as to a trusted friend, 
full of home-like and individual touches. 

" Alexander Smith called. Conversation interesting 
and sympathetic. He laughed about his unwilling con- 
finement at the Isle of Skye in a storm of seven weeks' 
duration, which was the origin of his delightful paper 
called ' The Sky Bothie.' He talked especially of 
Carlyle and Dobell, giving a strong picture of the harsh 
and rough side of Carlyle. A. S. is a man of health and 
energy, who gives promise of a long literary career." 

What could any record of Edinburgh be worth 
which should omit a tribute to Dr. John Brown, 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 83 

our friend of many years. The world is still made 
better worth living in by his presence, and though 
illness may prevent him from bearing an ex- 
pressed share in this memorial, we are none the' 
less confident of his unexpressed feeling and sym- 
pathy. a Rab" was not to be seen when we 
were there, save in the spirit, but " Dick," the 
household friend, was very well indeed. 

In July, 1860, we returned to America, Mrs. 
Harriet Beecher Stowe and her family, and Mr. 
Hawthorne and his wife and children, accompany- 
ing us. It was an excellent passage, though all 
our little party were happy to touch the shores of 
home, I believe, except Hawthorne, who used to 
declare he would like to sail on thus forever, and 
never come to land. A large number of letters 
received at Liverpool were premonitory to the 
busy publisher, and he was soon again estab- 
lished in his home in Charles Street, Boston, with 
every moment occupied. 

It was during this absence, though of course 
not without correspondence and consultation, that 
'< The Atlantic Monthly " was purchased by Tick- 
nor & Fields. Established in the year 1857, by 
Phillips, Sampson & Co., under the editorship of 
James Russell Lowell, it was already recognized 
as a power, when the failure of the firm who first 
gave it existence threw it into other keeping. 



84 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

In 1861 Mr. Lowell resigned the position into Mr. 
Fields's hands, who continued to fill the place until 
1871, when Mr. W. D. Howells became the editor. 
In 1881 he was succeeded by Mr. T. B. Aldrich. 

From the diary : — 

"July 26,1863. — Yesterday morning came an article 
from H. G. upon Gerald Griffin, author of c The Col- 
legians ; ' at noon came two little lyrics from , pure 

in feeling, but not adapted for publication. At night a 
paper was returned from the printing office, a mass of 
corrections, nearly a week having been exhausted by 
the proof-reader vainly endeavoring to correct a bad 
style. Much must be omitted. This morning comes 

a poem from . Something had been done by the 

editor to bring it into rhythmical shape. The author 
writes that the deficiencies were 'intentional,' — never- 
theless accepts the amendment ! 

" ' The Atlantic Monthly ' is a striking feature just 
now in American life. Purely literary as it is, it has 
a subscription list, daily increasing, of 32,000. The 
labors of the editor and publishers are not light. . . . 
Looking over a historical article — fear poison — the 
author is a fierce democrat. has just sent a pleas- 
ing woman with a volume of poems. . The first one is 
about i The Frost,' but the fabric the frost builds melts 
in the sun before we can see what it is all about ; so 
with each one ; of course they must be refused. Pro- 
fessor ■ sends a pleasant and quaint article; the 

only objection is he threatens to send more ! Excellent 
paper upon De Quincey, written with great ability. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 85 

De Quincey stands in danger of being wronged by undue 
or unjust praise. 

Have been in Concord this week, making a short visit 
at the Hawthornes. He has just finished his volume of 
English Sketches, about to be dedicated to Franklin 
Pierce. It is a beautiful incident in Hawthorne's life, 
the determination, at all hazards, to dedicate this book 
to his friend. . . . 

"Visit from Charles Sumner. He is to speak next 
week in New York upon ' Our Foreign Relations.' 
Meantime he has prepared an address upon ' Our Do- 
mestic Affairs,' with which it was his intention to open 
the next session of Congress, but events move forward 
so rapidly he thinks it better to print his discourse at 
once in ' The Atlantic Monthly.' After this matter 
was satisfactorily arranged, Mr. Sumner proceeded to 
speak confidentially of Mr. Prescott and of their old 
friendship. On the day of his return to Boston after 
he was struck down in the Senate Chamber, a proces- 
sion escorted him past Mr. Prescott's residence to his 
own house. ' 1 had no sooner entered the door,' con- 
tinued Mr. Sumner, i than Mr. Prescott's servant rang 
with a note containing these words : " Welcome home, 
my dear Sumner ; I hope you saw me wave you a greet- 
ing from my piazza. What is the earliest moment you 
can appoint that I may call upon you.' When he came 
on the following day at the time suggested, he said, 
" How I wish I had known of the reception earlier, that 
I might have draped my house with flags and had a 
canvas printed in enormous letters, 'Welcome home!' 
with yesterday's date, and underneath May 22, the date 



86 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

you received your injuries ; under these should have ap- 
peared the words : — 

' Then I and you and all of us fell down, 
Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.' " 

He was full of feeling during the interview.' Mr. 
Sumner was not only pleased with this sign of friend- 
ship, but he felt there had been some misrepresentation 
of Mr. Prescott's political position, and the idea had 
gone abroad that he was inimical to himself. There- 
fore he was glad to make this little incident known. 

" Speaking of style in writing, Mr. Sumner said he 
had re-read Mr. Hawthorne's paper called ; Civic Ban- 
quets,' just printed, three times, for the style. 4 I sup- 
pose De Quin cey and Landor are the masters of style 
among moderns,' he continued. . . . 

Signed a paper yesterday, just put into circulation, for 
raising 50,000 colored troops from New England. . . . 

Letter from , saying his article in the A. M. was 

shamefully mutilated. , standing by, says it is the 

editor's duty to cut off people's heads.' It does not make 
this duty more agreeable, however. . . . Franklin Pierce, 
formerly President of these United States, joined us un- 
expectedly as we were walking in the woods. He is at 
least a most courteous gentleman and interesting man, 
kindly and thoughtful. ... 

" September, 1863. — This autumn a most attractive 
list of books will be published by T. & F. Browning, 
Tennyson, Richter, Hawthorne, Ticknor, and not least, 
though last, a new volume just finished, called 4 The 
Wayside Inn.' . . . 

" October 14. — Inauguration of the Union Club. Mr. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 87 

Everett made a fine address. . . . Have laid plans for 
placing several works of art upon the walls. Two are 
already in position. . . . 

" A rough old man from the Cape, half fisherman, 
half farmer, came in to see Mr. Fields. Said he, ' Mr. 
Agashy has been down to see the Cape, and we went 
exploring it together. We discovered some wonderful 
things down there, some things that air to come out in 
the next number of your paper (meaning the A. M.). 
But I wrote to Mr. Agashy and told him there was one 
partikler thing I was afraid he hadn't got in his article, 
something very important, and he wrote back and said, 
when he got through with his article I might write the 
rest and finish up the matter.' ' What was the new 
discovery which he had omitted?' ' Why, 't was just 
this, and I think I'd better write about it. Yer see, 
they 've been a-planting cranberries down on that are 
Cape and plan tin' and plan tin'. Now yer see 't' aint no 
more use than if they was planted down here in Wash- 
ington Street ; they won't grow. You see, the soil down 
there is all either shelving or 'luvial, and t'wont do for 
cranberries. Now I should like to finish Mr. Agashy's 
article, for he is a real good, queer man.' ' 

" Tuesday, November 3. — Dinner given to the organ 
builders of our beautiful organ in the Boston Music 
Hall. Governor Andrew surpassed himself in interest- 
ing conversation. O. W. H. read a lyric, and J. T. F. 
a little drinking song." 

January, 1864. Mr. Fields received frequent 
visits at this period from Professor Ticknor, whose 
life of William H. Prescott had been lately issued : 



88 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" Ticknor is delighted to have completed the work, 
and to see it in so fitting a dress. He has much that is 
interesting to relate about the incidents of his life, and 
as the years increase finds a greater pleasure than ever 
in recalling his memories of distinguished men whose 
careers have been parallel to his own. 

" He has never ceased to be generous with his most 
precious possession, namely, his library. Not infre- 
quently two hundred and fifty volumes at a time have 
been absent from his shelves, for he seldom refuses an 
applicant. It has been the same also with the loan 
of money in small sums. No one has been refused. He 
tells some interesting anecdotes of i narrow escapes,' and 
of irresolution, upon his own part, when total strangers 
have asked to borrow his books. One night has been 
enough to restore his generosity. 

" Called on Professor Ticknor. He said he should be 
happy to allow his picture of Sir Walter Scott, by Leslie, 
to be photographed if Mr. Fields desired it. It is, of 
course, a great privilege, and will be done immediately. 

" Sir Walter was pleased with Mr. Ticknor when he 
visited him as a young man, and yielded to his wish to 
sit for a portrait. Therefore, in 1815, Leslie painted 
this one. Mrs. Lockhart preferred it to all the other 
likenesses of her father, and was unwilling to have it 
leave the country. Leslie at length concluded to make 
a copy in miniature, and this copy is still in England 
in one of the fine collections there." 

March 5, 1864, came the news of Starr King's 
death. " It is hard to think of him as elsewhere. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 89 

He seems necessary still to our cause, which he has 
served nobly." 

He was an early friend of Mr. Fields, and from 
among his letters I have been able to gather a 
few passages which may give some idea of his 
rollicking fun : — 

" Pigeon Cove, Sunday, July 9, 1854. 
" Heartiest thanks for your bundle and Walton. It 's 
a luscious copy. I shall begin it this glorious Sunday 
afternoon which you have slighted. That will go into 
the choicest spot of my best book-case. 

" I had a rich interview with old K last evening, 

at Sunset Rock. He said : ' I knowed suthin' would hap- 
pen that week the nigger was lugged out 'er Boston, cos 
the ' old Farmers ' said, Look out for Causaltis and Ras- 
calities this week.' 

" Somehow lawyers came into our talk, and especially 

. He grew eloquent on our legal friend. ' The 

d — d cuss pled agin me once. I watched him, — Gowod ! 
He can cant Ms countinince so ez to draw the tears out 
of the eyes of the jury in two nrinits.' Some Biblical 
criticisms were equally shrewd, reverent, and rich. . . . 
" Sir ! with great regard, 

" Your friend and servant, 

T. S. King." 

" Boston, March 30, 1860. 
" My dear James : — I leave Boston to-morrow, and 
New York April 5th. Can it be ? No King in Boston 
after this ! No portly frame, and handsome mouth and 



90 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

nose which drives the artists crazy, belonging to the 
Presbyter of Hollis Street, to enter the dear old sanctum 
on the corner, and pester the poet-bibliopole! Is it 
possible ? 

" And then I go where there is no such compound as 
yourself. Fields there may be in California. Chinamen 
are there, and perhaps tea fields, but no James T. alas ! 
' He was very kind to me, sir ! ' . . . 

" J. and I laughed over your note till we cried.' , . . . 

" San Francisco, October 29, 1862. 
"... We are chipping the shell here, and are coming 
out northern eagles, not southern buzzards as the inten- 
tion was. We have gone through a hard and very im- 
portant fight, in fact have achieved the most remarkable 
revolution which the war has witnessed. The State must 
be northernized thoroughly, by schools, Atlantic Month- 
lies, lectures, New England preachers, Library Associa- 
tions, — in short, Ticknor and Fieldsism of all kinds. I 
have worked the last eighteen months within an inch of 
my life, in speaking, preaching, orationizing, traveling, 
organizing, etc., and have arranged to deliver there six 
lectures, in addition to other labors, in order to set the 
taste of our irrepressible and noble community in the 
right path, and clinch the political nail that we have 
driven through the State. . . . Do help me and you shall 
be rewarded in this life, and shall have a copyright for 
the lyrics of Gabriel. . . . 

" Your obliged friend, 

« T. S. K." 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 91 

" San Francisco, February 10, 1863. 
. . . " Last night I spoke to a grand audience on 
Holmes. You should haye seen and felt the reception 
of his tremendous lyric, c Choose You Whom,' etc. I 
could hardly get out the line, ' And the copperhead coil 
round the blade of his scythe,' before the crash came, 
which shows that the lightning struck. . . . Lowell has 
sent me a perfectly charming poem showing his two 
faces, the humorous and the transcendental, and conveying 
the most delicate compliment to California bounty that 
the finest fibre in his brain could devise. ... I shall 
clear about $2,000 for our organ. Oh, how I want to see 
you all, and to take our little Hesperus to an Eastern 
sky ! Don't die, don't turn secesh, don't let the coun- 
try break in two. . . . How I want to see you. How 
glorious Emerson's ' Titmouse ' is ! What vitality in the 
Biglow Papers ! What excellence in the ' Atlantic ' 
generally ! Here we have been nearly two years, and 
have n't seen you for three ; and we still live, eat three 
meals per diem, and are supposed to be tolerably content 
with existence ! . . . I can't imagine what I should do 
if we should see Boston and you all once more. I fear 
the tether wouldn't hold. . . . 

" Yours, always, 

"T. S. King." 

This year was marked not only by the incidents 
of war, but by the death of Nathaniel Hawthorne. 
His passing was like losing a portion of our own 
household, so closely interwoven had become the 
interest and affection of the two families. The 



92 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

season of that parting was in the beautiful month 
of May, as Longfellow has so exquisitely recorded. 
Mrs. Hawthorne was not only uplifted herself 
through the infinite beauty of spring, and the si- 
lence which surrounded her, in her wayside home 
at Concord, but she shared a large measure of her 
feeling with her friends when she sent them the 
following letter. I print it because it contains a 
breath of true life, and may breathe again upon 
some soul whose joy is departed. 

"Monday Night. 

"Beloved ; When I see that I deserved nothing, and 
that my Father gave me the richest destiny for so many 
years of time to which eternity is to be added, I am 
struck dumb with an ecstasy of gratitude, and let go 
my mortal hold with an awful submission, and without a 
murmur. I stand hushed into an ineffable peace which 
I cannot measure nor understand. It therefore must be 
that peace which ' passeth all understanding.' I feel 
that his joy is such as 'the heart of man cannot con- 
ceive,' and shall I not then rejoice, who loved him so far 
beyond myself ? If I did not at once share his beati- 
tude, should I be one with him now in essential essence ? 
Ah, thanks be to God who gives me this proof — beyond 
all possible doubt — that we are not and never can be 
divided ! 

" If my faith bear this test, is it not ' beyond the ut- 
most scope and vision of calamity ! ' Need I ever fear 
again any possible dispensation if I can stand serene when 
that presence is reft from me which I believed I must 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 93 

instantly die to lose? Where, God, is that support- 
ing, inspiring, protecting, entrancing presence which sur- 
rounded me with safety and supreme content ? 

" ' It is with you, nay child, saith the Lord, and seemeth 
only to be gone.' 

" 4 Yes, my Father, I know I have not lost it, because 
I still live.' 'I will be glad.' 4 Thy will be done.' 
From a child I have truly believed that God was all good 
and all wise, and felt assured that no event could shake 
my belief. To-day I know it. 

" This is the whole. No more can be asked of God. 
There can be no death nor loss for me for evermore. I 
stand so far within the veil that the light from God's 
countenance can never be hidden from me for one mo- 
ment of the eternal day, now nor then. God gave me 
the rose of time ; the blossom of the ages to call my 
own for twenty-five years of human life. 

" God has satisfied wholly my insatiable heart with a 
perfect love that transcends my dreams. He has decreed 
this earthly life a mere court of i the house not made 
with hands, eternal in the heavens.' Oh, yes, dear 
heavenly Father! 'I will be glad," that my darling has 
suddenly escaped from the rude jars and hurts of this 
outer court, and when I was not aware that an angel 
gently drew him within the palace-door that turned on 
noiseless golden hinges, drew him in, because he was 
weary. 

" God gave to his beloved sleep. And then an awak- 
ing which will require no more restoring slumber. 

" As the dew-drop holds the day, so my heart holds the 
presence of the glorified freed spirit. He was so beauti- 



94 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

ful here, that he will not need much change to become 
a ' shining one ! ' How easily I shall know him when my 
children have done with me, and perhaps the angel will 
draw me gently also within the palace-door, if I do not 
faint, but truly live, ' Thy will be done.' 

"At that festival of life that we all celebrated last 
Monday, did not those myriad little white lily-bells ring 
in for him the eternal year of peace, as they clustered 
and hung around the majestic temple, in which he once 
lived with God ? They rang out, too, that lordly incense 
that can come only from a lily, large or small. What 
lovely ivory sculpture round the edge. I saw it all, 
even at that breathless moment, when I knew that all 
that was visible was about to be shut out from me for 
my future mortal life. I saw all the beauty, and the 
tropical gorgeousness of odor that enriched the air from 
your peerless wreath steeped me in Paradise. We were 
the new Adam and new Eve again, and walked in the 
garden in the cool of the day, and there was not yet 
death, only the voice of the Lord. But indeed it seems 
to me that now again there is no death. His life has 
swallowed it up. 

" Do not fear for me, ' dark hours.' I think there is 
nothing dark for me henceforth. I have to do only 
with the present, and the present is light and rest. Has 
not the everlasting 

' Morning spread 
Over me her rich surprise?' 

" I have no more to ask, but that I may be able to 
comfort all who mourn as I am comforted. If I could 
bear all sorrow I would be glad, because God has turned 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 95 

for me the silver lining; and for me the darkest cloud 
has broken into ten thousand singing birds — as I saw in 
my dream that I told you. So in another dream long 
ago, God showed me a gold thread passing through each 
mesh of a black pall that seemed to shut out the sun. I 
comprehend all now, before I did not doubt. Now God 
says in soft thunders, — 4 Even so ! 
" Your faithful friend, 

"Sophia Hawthokke." 

Again the diary : — 

" April 3, 1865. Forever memorable! Our armies 
entered Richmond, — General Weitzel, with the colored 
troops ahead. The bells of the little town of Manches- 
ter, where we passed the afternoon, were ringing, and 
the sea and sky were in unison with the joyous sounds. 
Returning home we found Mrs. Hawthorne lying on the 
couch, where she might see the lovely sunset and moon 
rise over the Charles River bay. 

" . . . * Carleton ' delivered to John G. Whittier be- 
hind ' the green curtain ' the key of the Richmond 
Slave Prison. He saw fifty slaves emancipated from 
this den a few days since." . . . 

April 29th. " Saturday Club Dinner. Mr. Brownell, 
author of ' The Bay Fight,' was present, as Dr. Holmes's 
guest." 

The Saturday Club was established in the year 
1857, and has been maintained with unabated 
interest to the present date, meeting on the last 
Saturday of every month, at two or three o'clock 



96 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

in the afternoon, in order to accommodate Mr. 
Emerson, Judge Hoar, and other out-of-town 
members. It is entirely social, and therefore of 
necessity rather small, the whole number of mem- 
bers from the beginning until now amounting to 
but forty-five persons. Whatever may be said of 
the lack of social spirit in New England, this club 
will forever stand as a living contradiction to such 
assertion. I believe there is not a parallel in the 
world of such a company. Not more proud of 
each other's fame or achievement than they are 
attached to one another by sincere confidence and 
affection, they are enabled to speak freely when 
together, upon the subjects affecting them most 
nearly. When we consider the individual charac- 
ter of its members and its duration, it will remain 
as an exponent of our time. Jealousies, so often 
rife among men of kindred labors, have never 
darkened these friendships or altered the freedom 
of communication. Each member is privileged to 
bring one invited guest, and thus opportunity is 
made for any distinguished visitor who may be 
in our vicinity for coming face to face with the 
individuals who have made New England famous. 
Henry Howard Brownell, a man of high poetic 
gifts, was thus first introduced among his peers. 
His talent had already been recognized by Mr. T. 
B. Aldrich, who has written a beautiful sonnet to 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 97 

his memory, which should be reproduced in any 
mention of the poet. 

HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL. 

" They never crowned him, never knew his worth, 
But let him go unlaurelled to the grave: 
Hereafter there are guerdons for the brave, 
Roses for martyrs who wear thorns on earth, 
Balms for bruised hearts that languish in the dearth 
Of human love. So let the lilies wave 
Above him, nameless. Little did he crave 
Men's praises. Modestly, with kindly mirth, 
Not sad nor bitter, he accepted fate — 

Drank deep of life, knew books, and hearts of men, 
Cities and camps, and war's immortal woe, 
Yet bore through all (such virtue in him sate 
His spirit is not whiter now than then !) 
A simple, loyal nature, pure as snow." 

The unrivaled tribute by " the Professor " in 
the ' Atlantic Monthly ' also, must not be passed 
unmentioned. It was a generous and fitting rec- 
ognition. 

Who can forget having been present at that 
first reading of " The Bay Fight " in the Charles 
Street library one evening, when Dr. Holmes 
thrilled the little company with his impassioned 
presentation of the poem ; from that moment we 
all felt that we knew Brownell, and whatever the 
future should bring us from him would be of value 
in our eyes. 

7 



98 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

The diary says : — 

" Brownell's home is in Connecticut by the sea, where 
he lives with his widowed mother. He visits at a few 
houses only in Hartford, he says, but he finds a fisherman 
by the water-side who is blind, one J. H. (an excellent 
machinist also, and man of affairs), whom he likes much 
and whose companionship he often seeks. Brownell has 
a ' Life of Farragut ' under way, which he thinks would 
outvie Southey's ' Life of Nelson,' if he had eyes to fin- 
ish it." 

In connection with Brownell and his proposed 
Life of Farragut, I find the following extract from 
the diary : — 

" August, 1865. Dr. Townsend called, at whose house 
Admiral Farragut stayed while he was in Boston. The 
Doctor came, bearing a courteous message from Mrs. 
Farragut, and her thanks for a copy of Ticknor's Life 
of Prescott. He said he begun his professional life as 
surgeon in the United States Navy, and he was upon the 
same ship with Farragut, who was then a midshipman 
fourteen years old. He was a clever, affectionate lad, 
whose observation nothing escaped, and a warm friend- 
ship grew up between them. The old surgeon remem- 
bers distinctly often holding the boy upon his knee. 
The intimacy between them has never ceased. Farragut 
is a marvel of muscular and physical power. He is 
sixty years old now, but on his tour to Rye Beach a few 
days since, he repeatedly walked up a five barred gate 
and stood upon the upper bar without touching anything. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 99 

His life has been a varied one, and, of course, of pro- 
found interest to Americans at present. 

" When the government sent to beg his acceptance of 
some prominent position with a high salary, or the min- 
istry at some foreign court, he declined, saying he wished 
to die as he had lived, in the navy. It was then asked 
what station he would prefer and what style of house, as 
they wished him to be appointed and settled where he 
liked best, but he replied, give your positions and houses 
to the men who need them, for they are many. I am 
well off, and shall prefer to live simply and take care of 
myself." 

Mr. Brownell became personally attached to his 
publisher, and many jocose little notes passed be- 
tween them. In one of them he says : — - 

" I don't know whether you like dedications. What 
do you think of this one ? If you approve it return it to 
me, and I will send it to the Admiral, and see if he is 
willing that it should appear. Tell me just what you 
think about it. ... I am taking you behind the scenes 
so much, in our rehearsal of this piece, that I 'm afraid 
you will think 't is like Mr. Weller's watch — 4 opens an 
shows the vorks '." Again he writes, " I see that you 
are doing me a kindness in a very delicate way. Accept 
my sincere thanks. I am not above receiving a favor 
from a man like you." 

"East Hartford, February 28, 1866. 

"My dear Fields, — By some divine magnetic in- 
stinct, I had already, two days ago, anticipated one of 
your objections, and written to you to change the line to 



100 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

4 its breath ; ' so you might let me have my way about 
the other. 

" Ae half the prayer wi' Phoebus grace did find, 
The tither half he whistled down the wind." 

44 Don't be afraid of 4 now for it,' it was the first line 
written, and is the very nucleus and key-note of the 
piece, and is really the only good thing in it. 4 Be it 
known to you, Senor Gil Bias,' said the Bishop, 4 that I 
never composed a better homily than the one you ex- 
cept to.' 

44 However, I would alter it if I could, since you wish 
it, but really don't see how. 

44 It is, indeed, the merest trifle after all, and if it wont 
go as it is, send it back. I shan't regret it, except that 
it does not please you, whom I truly wish to please. . . . 

44 H. H. B." 

December, 1868. 44 Brownell has just returned from a 
voyage to Europe in the frigate Franklin with Admiral 
Farragut. He is now forty-eight years old. He has 
accomplished only six months traveling during his ab- 
sence of a year and a half, the rest of the time being 
passed in monotonous sea-life. His vivid description of 
ship-board talk, long yarns, arguments where nobody is 
persuaded ; tales of the sentry who tramped every night 
above his head until he found himself frequently com- 
pelled to sit up and meet the dawn ; of the wonderful fall 
of a man through the rigging, one hundred and forty 
feet, who recovered his perfect health, — all these things 
told in his own striking manner, became exceedingly in- 
teresting. Also his sense of utter shallowness under 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 101 

such circumstances, though he seems to have been the 
life of the ship from his humanity and love of literature 
and fun. He was full of appreciation of ' Mark Twain.' 
Presently he spoke of the delight he experienced in find- 
ing himself on Shelley's ground. Spezzia, Pisa, the 
Lido (where he picked up shells as Shelley did with 
Byron), at his grave, and the baths of Caracalla. He 
spoke of the injustice done to Byron ; of his marvelous 
descriptions ; how they reveled in his words as they stood 
looking at Hymettus which ' flamed like a white pillar 
on the sky.' He was deeply moved at the sight of our 
copy of ; Diogenes Laertius ; ' the one owned by Shelley 
and Leigh Hunt. Brownell reads Greek fluently ; in- 
deed, he has translated something of Homer, scholars say 
remarkably, into hexameters. But this work was done 
fifteen years ago, and will never be continued, he says. 
. . . There is a pervading honesty in Brownell, by which 
you recognize his religion. A fall man. He has a small, 
finely cut head." 

The diary proceeds : — 

"Went to see Mrs. and Miss Thoreau. They pro- 
duced thirty-two volumes of Henry's journal and a few 
letters. Their idea is to print the letters. . . . Their 
house was like a conservatory, it was so filled with 
plants in a beautiful condition. Henry liked to have 
the doors thrown open that he might look at them 
during his illness. . . . Miss Thoreau did not feel in 
any haste to find the editor for her brother's journal. 
She did not see the man, she said, but she thought he 
would come." 



102 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Mr. Fields had no intimate acquaintance with 
Henry Thoreau. " I like to see him come in," 
he would say, "he always smells of the pine 
woods." The published volume of Thoreau's let- 
ters is selected with great care, and I do not 
find anything new or more important in those 
before me. We one day went to Lexington, and 
drove down to Bedford Springs, five and a half 
miles. We found a little lake there quiet and 
full of sunshine in the autumnal afternoon. The 
keeper of the house came to us while standing 
by the lake side and offered to row us about. 
The man had known Thoreau, and we found 
ourselves on Thoreau's ground. There were the 
houses for the musk-rats which he describes, and 
the red berries of the alder and the purple asters 
he loved so well. The brilliant trees and mov- 
ing clouds lay reflected in the lake as he had 
seen them. Occasionally a hawk would glide over 
on still* wings, but no human sounds were heard 
until the children came from school. We were 
delighted to watch some ducks in the pond. They 
were not wild, but they jumped into the pond as 
soon as they could move, and had fed and cared 
for themselves ever since. How calm and peace- 
ful the scene was ! 

It was in the spring of 1863 that Forceythe 
Willson first became known as a poet. The two 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 103 

poems, "The Color Sergeant" and "In State," 
chiefly gave him his reputation. One of our emi- 
nent men, who first extended the right hand to 
that young poet, said, " He is as shy as Hawthorne, 
and has not learned that the eagle's wings should 
sometimes be kept down as we people who live in 
the world discover." 

Willson had the singular power of reading char- 
acter by the touch of manuscript. There was 
something almost weird at times in his presence 
and conversation. He took great pleasure in Mr. 
Fields' s cheerful friendly character, and seemed to 
draw near to him as to a protecting and befriend- 
ing presence, 

I give one of his characteristic letters : — 

"Cambridge, August 22, 1865. 
" Deae Sir, — Monday morning I promised myself 
this should be Lazy Week — no engagements — no work 
— nothing positive; — that I should drift and float, and 
not lift a hand, forget myself and, as much as possible, 
everybody else (on the Mutual Insurance principle). 
Next week — if you don't interpose — I '11 be on hand 
for a tramp with you ; but out upon chaises and civili- 
ties, for I want to ride a whale bareback. 

" Yours truly, 

"F. Willson. 
"N. B. I shall bring no poems." 

In one of his notes he says : — 



104 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

"Dear Me. Fields, — Please draw your pencil along 
the margin of the intrusive stanzas, and return me the 

po ttery. Your Friend, 

" WlLLSON." 

And again he signs himself " Yours ever 

" F. W. 
" Maker of earthen vessels." 

" Cambridge, August 26, 1865. 

"My dear Me, Fields, — When the wind is south- 
erly I know a hawk from a handsaw ; and unless it abso- 
lutely rain on Thursday morning I shall come without 
regard to the weathercock. 

" Just this moment finished reading Lowell's ode. ' VI.' 
is a good strophe., — the only thing of decent proportions 
I 've seen on the subject in verse. 

" There has really been no ode written in English (that 
I know of) since Dryden ; but some of the shorter lines 
in ' X ' are almost up to the old strain. 
" As for poems — tut — tut ! — 

" (the gods have quit making 'em !) 
" Yours truly, 

" F. Wlllsof." 

Mr. Fields was a warm friend of Charles 
Sprague, who one day told him an incident relat- 
ing to the composition of his fine Shakespeare 
Ode, which should not be forgotten. Mr. Fields 
had mentioned one passage which he thought es- 
pecially good, the one descriptive of the murder. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 105 

"Ah ! " said Mr. Sprague, " how well I remember the 
day I wrote that. I was keeping a grocer's shop on Tre- 
mont Row at the time. It was a cold, stormy winter's 
day and I was alone in the shop sitting over a sheet-iron 
stove. I had just reached this passage and was hoping 
nobody would come in, when a man opened the door and 
asked for a quart of train-oil. Well, sir, I filled his ves- 
sel for him and handed it back, and then, my hands reek- 
ing with train-oil, I finished that passage." 

The diary continues : — 

" One of the printing offices in revolt, which compli- 
cates ' Atlantic ' responsibilities, and as for disappointed 
authors ! they seem to hedge us in and shake their 
threatening beards." 

44 Went to get a few oysters for lunch. The oyster- 
man lay down his guitar, upon which he had been impro- 
vising, and began to pry open the bivalves, singing as he 
pried, 6 1 call thy spirit back to earth ! ' ; 

" Note from , thanking the editor for his frank- 
ness in telling him his poem was bad, but disagreeing 
with his opinion ! " 

During these years I find references to the 
constant increase of business responsibilities. A 
weekly journal was started called the " Every 
Saturday," which gave the firm a quarterly, 
monthly, weekly, and juvenile magazine. The re- 
sult was, that ultimate decisions on a large variety 
of matters were referred to Mr. Fields. In the 
diary he says : — 



106 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" An overwhelming week. Affairs crowd until it be- 
comes impossible to accomplish what should be done. 
The sight of a manuscript is like a sword-fish now-a-days, 
— it cuts me in two." 

Again, — 

" A most fatiguing day. Numberless persons with 

books which must be refused ; among others , who 

was full of grief, therefore it was harder to say ' No.' 
Beside his book is a good one ; . . . but Ticknor & 
Fields have too many books already to make it best to 
accept anything new at present." 

The first letter I find from Mr. Bryant is dated 
shortly before this period and the friendly corre- 
spondence remained unbroken until his death. 
He writes in 1864 : — 

" Dear Mr. Fields, — I send you a poem for the 
4 Atlantic' Ask me for no more verses. A septuage- 
narian has past the time when it is becoming for him to 
occupy himself with 

" The rhymes and rattles of the man and boy." 

Pope was twenty years younger than I am, when he said 
to Bolingbroke , — 

' Why wilt thou break the Sabbath of my days? ' 
and, 

' Public too long, ah, let me hide my age.' 

Uhland, who died in his seventy-sixth year, did not in the 
last twenty years, or twenty-five, was it ? add a hundred 
lines to his published verses. Nobody in the years after 
seventy can produce anything in poetry except the thick 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 107 

and muddy last runnings of the cask from which all the 
clear and sprightly liquor has been already drawn." 

Again in 1867, he writes from Koslyn, Long 
Island : — 

" Dear Me. Fields, — It would give me great pleas- 
ure to be a guest at your dinner next week and to testify 
my admiration of the writings of Mr. Longfellow, in par- 
ticular of his translation of Dante, but for the occupa- 
tions in which I am now engaged and I must say, also, 
the habit of seclusion, incident to my time of life, and 
gaining strength as I grow older. Allow me to plead 
these as my excuse for not coming to the dinner to which 
you have so kindly invited me. Meantime I take this 
opportunity to express in words what my presence could 
not express more emphatically. Mr. Longfellow has 
translated Dante as a great poet should be translated. 
After this version, no other will be attempted until the 
present form of the English language shall have become 
obsolete, for whether we regard fidelity to the sense, 
aptness in the form of expression, or the skilful trans- 
fusion of the poetic spirit of the original into the phrases 
of another language, we can look for nothing more per- 
fect. It is fitting that Mr. Longfellow's friends should 
congratulate him, as I heartily do, on the successful com- 
pletion of his great task. 

" I am, dear sir, very truly yours 

" W. C. Bryant. 

"James T. Fields, Esq." 

This letter refers to the dinner planned by 
Mr. Fields and given by " the firm " in honor of 



108 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

the completion of Mr. Longfellow's translation of 
Dante. The Dante Festival, as it was called, be- 
cause it was given on the six hundredth anniver- 
sary of Dante's birth, was a beautiful and success- 
ful occasion. Mr. Bryant's absence was regretted, 
but there was a full company of " Representative 
Men." 

Again, Mr. Bryant writes in 1871 : — 

"I can no more get up the necessary excitement for 
writing a poem at the present time than I can go back 
to the days of my youth. I have the Odyssey on hand, 
which takes up most of my leisure; then there is the 
4 Evening Post,' which I cannot neglect, and other matters, 
small in themselves, but numerous, the effect of which is 
to load me with so many petty tasks, and keep me fuss- 
ing so, that I sometimes feel what used to be called, 
when people had no scruple about using a Latin word 
now and then, — tedium vitoe. So you see that you ask 
what is as impossible as if you were to wait a few years 
and ask it of my tombstone. 

" I am, dear sir, very truly yours, 

"W. C. Bryant." 

" New York, April 25, 1871. 
" My dear Me. Fields, — There was no need that 
you should exhort me to be diligent in putting the Odys- 
sey into English blank verse. I have been as industrious, 
as was reasonable. I understand very well that at my 
time of life such enterprises are apt to be brought to a 
conclusion before they are finished, and I have therefore 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 109 

wrought harder upon my task than some of my friends 
thought was well for me. I have already sent forward 
the manuscript for the first volume. You may remember 
that I finished my translation of the Iliad within the 
time that I undertook, and this would have been done 
without any urging. In the case of the Odyssey I have 
finished the first volume two months sooner than I prom- 
ised. 

" I do not think the Odyssey the better part of Homer 
except morally. The gods set a better example and take 
more care to see that wrong and injustice are discouraged 
among mankind. But there is not the same spirit and 
fire, nor the same vividness of description, and this the 
translator must feel as strongly as the reader. Let me 
correct what I have already said, by adding, that there is 
yet in the Odyssey one more advantage over the Iliad. 
It is better as a story. In the Iliad the plot is to me un- 
satisfactory — and there is besides a monotony of car- 
nage — you get a surfeit of slaughter. . . ." 

The following brief extracts from the diary giv- 
ing a sketch of Mr. Bryant in his own beautiful 
home at Roslyn, may not be out of place : — 

" June, 1871. Last night Mr. Bryant met us in the 
train for Roslyn. He is nearly eighty years old, hale 
and strong, his intellect clear as ever. He showed us 
Long Island with pride, as having a kind of ownership 
in the whole place apart from his actual possession. His 
influence has been incalculable in the proper planting 
and civilizing of the whole district. He pointed out the 
farm where Cobbett lived and wrote his book upon 



110 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

American Agriculture ; the plains where the Indians cut 
off the trees — where the railroad now runs ; indicated 
the growth of towns, Jamaica especially, which was a 
very small place twenty-five years before when he came 
to Roslyn. ... In the morning Mr. Bryant walked to 
the village for the mail, and we wandered about the place 
rejoicing in the beauty of the trees and flowers. Every- 
thing in the way of foliage contrasts strongly with our 
own rugged shores of Massachusetts. . . . Wandered 
into the library. The broad window where the poet's 
table stood overlooked the garden with its white lilies 
and the lake below. The Odyssey, opened at the four- 
teenth book, lay upon the table, where he had already 
been at work in the early morning. It was the library 
of a student and scholar." 

In the spring of 1863 Mr. Fields found a com- 
fortable farm-house on a hillside in Camp ton, N. H., 
about a mile from that village, where during sev- 
eral consecutive years he "met the spring" and 
rested in absolute retirement. There was no rail- 
road nearer than the town of Plymouth, eight 
miles distant, over a sandy and difficult road, and 
no post-office nearer than the village of Camp- 
ton, whither the mail was brought by an express 
wagon, which was a whole long day toiling be- 
tween Plymouth and that place. But for one who 
loved the country as he did, to whom the green 
growing things were a constant joy, who reveled 
in them always as children do, — not like a botanist, 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. HI 

or an astronomer, or story-writer, or thinker, and 
still less like a man of business, or an editor, — but 
going out to play, finding wild roses, or columbine, 
or pimpernel, whatever it might be, and bringing 
it home, forever guiltless of the Latin name, like 
a conqueror, as if it were just created ; to one 
who loves nature in this way she is sufficient ; she 
takes him to herself and gives him rest on many a 
green pillow. 

He was never tired of going to New Hampshire. 
" They are my native hills, you know," he would 
say half in excuse, and although the climate of 
Campton itself did not suit him he continued to 
go thither for many years. 

The following notes of the life there will give 
some idea of his love of country enjoyments. 

" June 7th. Raining like a day in April ; began our 
walks before breakfast. The ferns are only half awak- 
ened and the wayside is blue with violets. The hermit 
thrush and robins are busy enough. What the farmers 
call 4 real growin' weather.' Mad River bridge is un- 
safe. They say here ' the buttonments ' are weak. The 
ford too is impassable from the heavy rains. Read Nie- 
buhr's letters aloud, also the memoirs of Lord Herbert 
of Cherbury. The only external excitement is when 
the country wagons pass up and down the road to and 
from Plymouth. . . . Heard the Peabody bird here for 
the first time. . . . 

"Sunday — Went to the village church. The sermon 



112 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

was not unsuited to the hearers, and the service was 
earnest and interesting. In the afternoon climbed to 
the very top of Willey's Hill. We saw the snn go 
down while still near the summit. What an even- 
ing ! The streams are fuller than we have seen them 
before." 

" June 11. Drove to Sanborn's Inn, and wandered 
about in the sunshine all the afternoon. Two boys were 
fishing for trout in a full blue pond near by, where logs 
were floating. We sat on one of the logs near to the 
brink, and watched their agility in springing from one 
to another, with utter fearlessness of slipping. 'No 
trout yet,' they said, in answer to our inquiries. Drove 
to Farmer A.'s. Met him just below his house. He 
walked by the side of the wagon, talking. Such a place ! 
It was a Paradise. The mountains opened before us, the 
meadow and river lay below. What a magnificent resi- 
dence this would be ! Comparing favorably in natural 
features with the finest the world can show. . . . Think 
of it : a patriarchal domain at an expense of one hundred 
and eighty dollars a year ! 

" June 12. Went up to the W.'s farm on the hill- 
side. There is no road leading there ; only a grassy 
lane. Found the farmer hoeing his corn thoughtfully on 
the hillside. He believed there would be frost to-night. 
The northwest wind was blowing lustily over the young 
shoots, and it was quite cold. At the door of the cot- 
tage the mother greeted us joyfully. We went in to see 
her sick daughter. . . . 

" The green hills stretch up behind the cottage, and 
slope down in front of it, and the solitude is undisturbed. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 113 

The lilacs were waving in the sunshine as we left the 
sick girl ; the birds were hovering about the door, sun- 
shine and health were everywhere without, — pain and 
fading were within. . . . 

" In the afternoon walked to Farmer G.'s, and came 
home through ' June Avenue ' (he christened all the 
walks and drives and climbs during these visits). Farm- 
er G. said his taxes were very heavy, equal to fifty dol- 
lars a year, all told, but then ' 't was wuth somethin' to 
live in the village of Campton ! ' 

" Last night Don Santiago Duello arrived in Camp- 
ton, * the world-renowned contortionist.' The people 
said this morning he did all he said he would, and they 
had their 4 money's worth.' Seeing him drive away, Mr. 
Fields said, 'A more decayed, miserable set than the 
" Don " in his buggy, . . . his wife and child and baby 
and rattletraps, which preceded him, could not easily 
be conceived.' 

" June 15. Hills veiled, — rain, rain, rain. Later, — 
thick fog, and signs of clearing. Finished Massey's book 
on Shakespeare's sonnets ; read Mozart's letters in the 
evening. Walked many miles ; visited the school-house ; 
was interested in the teacher, a lame girl, with a passion 
for study. She intends going next year to the Seminary 
at South Hadley ; earns about three dollars and a half a 
week, besides her board, while teaching here. Has for- 
ty-two scholars. These people pick up much of the 
knowledge they possess from experience. Mr. Fields 
asked, ' how old is the school-house ? ' ' Well, I can't 
tell ye exackly, but I helped to take up the old fence 
the other day, and the oak-posts was rotten ; naow it 
8 



114 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

takes jest twelve years for oak-posts to begin to rot, so 
it must have been built twelve years at least.' 

" Trie air is filled with a chorus of birds. We strain 
our ears to listen, and, as far as sound can travel, there 
are the birds' voices calling to each other in the silence. 
The sun warms us through ; soft white clouds come 
upon the sky to break the fierceness of the sudden 
heat, ferns unroll, the trees are odorous, — 
" ' All the world is gay.' 

" Found the linnaea in bloom. Drove to K. Hill ; 
asked the younger daughter of the house to accompany 
us, and climbed the height. The hill-top was like a 
baronial park of perfect maple trees. We found a 
mighty sugar-house there, with two hundred buckets 
and huge pans, suggesting plenty of sweet spoil. 4 How 
dull it looks here now,' said the girl. < In sugar time 
it is lovely ! The snow is on the ground, but the air 
at mid-day is not very cold at the season we generally 
choose. It is real pleasant going up to the sugar-house 
then.' 

" We climbed to the very top, and, sitting on moss 
thick as a good sponge, looked off upon Moose Hillock, 
and clown into the Franconia Notch, over the winding, 
glancing beauty of the Pemigewasset, with the fertile 
meadows. Upwards of a hundred sheep were nibbling 
on the near hills belonging to the K.'s ; saw also oxen 
and cattle and a large orchard of apple and pear trees. 

" These people are proud as the lords of old, but 
they need assistance in their labors, and, failing this, 
their whole farm life is, in one sense, a failure. They 
overwork, and neither attain their ends nor enjoy their 
lives. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 115 

"June 16. Walked over the hills before breakfast. 
Startled a cow, who gave quite a human jump of as- 
tonishment. 

" Plymouth, N. H. (en route for Campton), June, 
1868. Sunday — Passed the morning on the piazza of a 
deserted house on the hill-top overlooking the town. 
The whole Franconia range in sight. Whittier was our 
companion (in pocket form this time). It was a heavenly 
season. Mr. Fields told me he dreamed last night that 
L. had returned to pass a few hours with him. They 
talked very fast, there was so much to be said, and yet 
when he asked about the honors conferred on the banks 
of the Cam, or the public demonstrations, L. would only 
laugh, with a characteristic gesture, and say nothing. 
He talked incessantly of the loveliness of England, of the 
lake district in particular, while he hummed from time 
to time the refrain of a poem. 4 1 know you have writ- 
ten something to show me,' said Mr. Fields. ' You 
would never have come without that.' Then L. took 
out a short poem ; but they soon fell again into talk ; 
this time about C. D.'s house where L. is now staying. 
' It is perfect,' said L. ; ' you cannot hear the wheels go 
round.' 

" Campton, July 2. One of the farmers amuses us 
by talking of sidlin' land, meaning hilly. 

"July 3. Very, very warm. The morning clear and 
of unspeakable beauty. We read ' Comus ' before break- 
fast. The thrushes sing plenteously and life is harmoni- 
ous, silent, and apart. How far apart it seems, indeed, 
after such close contact with it as we have had ! 

" July 4. Hot, hot. The trees stand motionless. Mr. 



116 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Fields could do nothing yesterday afternoon but watch 
the cloud scenery, which was marvelous in its beauty. 

"June, 1872. A splendid vision upon the mountains 
at sunset, and a rainbow in the east. We shall remem- 
ber this sunset, with the scene at Interlachen. 

" In the morning the atmosphere like crystal and de- 
liciously melodious and fragrant. Read Spenser's ' Fae- 
ry Queen ' aloud in the evening. 

" June 20. Hoses in torrents. Climbed the hill to- 
wards night and saw a tree cut down, — a hemlock. He 
fell solemnly at last, and then only a short distance, 
being upheld by his fellows. Finally he was dragged 
down disgracefully by his hair. The squirrels ran for 
it!" 

One of the pleasures of this period of Mr. Fields's 
life was his acquaintance, nay friendship, with Mr. 
Agassiz, and any record would be incomplete which 
failed to recall the delightful hours passed in his 
society. " Did you have a pleasant Club to-day? " 
" Yes, Agassiz was there ! " — was often the answer 
heard from his lips. The glimpses here of their 
association must be of the briefest, for every rea- 
son, but such memories are too precious to be 
omitted and allowed to perish altogether. Agas- 
siz was so beloved by all who knew him, and all 
who knew Fields loved him so, different as they 
were, that I can but recall in this relation a pas- 
sage from the writings of Lacordaire. He says, in 
speaking of Ozanam : — 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 117 

" C'est un rare secret que celui de la popularity, j 'en- 
tends la popularite veritable, celle qui ne s'ach£te point 
par de laches concessions aux erreurs d'un si£cle, mais 
qui entoure d'une aure*ole pre"maturee l'honnete homme 
vivant. . . . Toutes les conditions remplies, il n'est pas 
impossible qu'un homme e*chappe a la popularity, si 
quelque chose de bienveillant ne tempere en lui la force 
du caractere et n'abaisse la hauteur du genie. C'est la 
bonte qui rend Dieu populaire, et l'homme a qui elle 
manque n'obtiendra jamais l'amour." 

In 1866 Mr. Fields one day accompanied a 
young English gentleman to Agassiz' Museum. 
They found the Professor hard at work, his hands 
in oil, fishes, and alcohol. " How sad for a natu- 
ralist to grow old," he said. " I see so much to be 
done which I can never complete. " The stranger 
had brought with him specimens or drawings from 
Professor Huxley for Mr. Agassiz. He was at once 
cordially received and invited to lunch with him 
the following day. 

Again, from the diary : — 

" Mr. Fields received a call to-day from our consul at 
Mauritius, who has brought to Boston two skeletons of 
the Dodo, the extinct bird of that island. The consul is 
anxious to see Mr. Agassiz. It is said there are no other 
complete skeletons. He suspected the possibility of their 
existence in a certain tract of marshy ground, and sent 
the natives in nearly to their necks in mud and water to 
feel about. After a time they struck these bones, with 



118 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

which lie returned at once to New England, being con- 
vinced of their value as belonging to the real Dodo. . . . 
Mr. Agassiz seems to have enjoyed the ' Dodo ' bones. 
They are not perfect, but valuable notwithstanding, and 
the best we have in America. Mr. Fields asked him if 
the ' Dodo ' was good to eat ! ' Yes, indeed ; what a pity 
we could not have the Dodo at our Club! A good din- 
ner is humanity's greatest blessing. What a pity ! But 
the Dutchmen carried a ship with rats to Mauritius who 
sucked the fine eggs, as large as a loaf, and everybody 
found the bird so good they did eat him, so he Has be- 
come extinct. We know of but one other bird of recent 
date who has become extinct, — the Great Northern Auk. 
The Bishop of Newfoundland did send me his bones, — 
a treasure indeed.' " 

New specimens overflowed from every side. His 
plans grew in proportion, and their only chance of 
fulfilment seemed to be in the continuous labor 
of those nearest him who could further the -details 
of his great work. 

Agassiz' friendship for and appreciation of Pro- 
fessor Pierce were always manifest when occasion 
offered. One day an album was produced in which 
Pierce had inscribed a half leaf about the stars and 
the far-reaching power of the mind of man tran- 
scending the limits of the spheres. The passage 
was most impressive in its eloquence. Agassiz was 
delighted, crying, " Do you hear ! That is Ben ! 
Who but Ben could do that ! It is enough to say 
that." 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 119 

In 1868 a private dinner was given to Mr. 
Longfellow upon his departure for Europe. Mr. 
Agassiz was present. Some one expressed a strong 
desire to see the Nile. "Ah! " said Agassiz, "I, 
too, long to see the Nile, but because I wish to 
study the fishes in it ! " He sustained a hearty 
struggle with a Darwinite at the table, but was 
equally full of science and of fun. His gayety 
and tenderness were unusual even for him. It 
was on a subsequent occasion that he described 
the Brazilian woodland, where he had seen one 
hundred and twenty-seven different kinds of wood 
growing within the space of a half mile ; also the 
splendor of the red passion-flower shut in by the 
dark green of the forest, green so dark that it is 
black. 

A most interesting gathering of the Saturday 
Club came together to welcome him upon his re- 
turn from Brazil. On that occasion he is remem- 
bered as seizing Dr. Holmes in his arms and 
taking him quite off his feet in the warmth of his 
embrace. He spoke there also of the greatness 
of Brazil, of her glorious woodlands ; and described 
the Brazilian ants as swarming into the houses 
and remaining for three days at a time, forcing 
the family meanwhile to move away ; said he had 
counted one hundred and forty-eight varieties of 
wood, whereas in New England we have only 



120 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

abouc fifty; and spoke of the vast room for en- 
terprise in such a land where not a sawmill was 
then in existence. He enlarged also upon the 
distinguished intelligence of the Emperor, and 
mentioned his intended visit to this country. 
Agassiz accompanied Longfellow and Fields as far 
as Lynn after the dinner. As they looked from 
the windows of the car into the moon-lighted 
landscape, Fields asked if that scene were not as 
beautiful as anything Brazil could offer. " Ah ! " 
was the reply, "I was just reflecting how sterile 
was the appearance of New England after the lux- 
uriant beauty of Brazil." He was sadly troubled 
to find the " old hack politicians " whom he hoped 
the war had slain, coming out again in renewed 
force. 

The diary continues : — 

" Mr. Agassiz often seems to have left half his heart 
with his work when he is away from it, except when he 
is like a child running over with fun and frolic. ... It 
was after Mr. Whipple's fine lecture on ' Bacon ' that 
some one fell to discoursing about imagination. ' Let us 
stop here,' said Agassiz, c we each define imagination dif- 
ferently. Imagination is to me the perfect conception of 
truth which some minds attain, of what cannot be proved 
through the senses. For instance, the planet Jupiter is 
so many miles from us, it has a certain determined size, 
and certain peculiarities. The mind that can compre- 
hend and use this knowledge as clearly as if the senses 
had touched the planet, that mind has imagination.' " 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 121 

Mr. Fields asked him at one of these gather- 
ings if he thought man ever would draw nearer 
to the mystery of birth and death. " I am sure 
he will/' was his reply, " the time will come when 
all these things will be made as clear as this table 
now spread before us." 

Three Scotch professors were the guests at the 
Saturday Club of August, 1871, and it was pro- 
pe ed that Walter Scott should be remembered as 
if it were ^is birthday. Agassiz presided, and the 
matter in hand seemed likely to be forgotten. 
Fields recalled the subject for the day to the 
presid- it. " Thank you," he said, " my dear 
Field' I had entirely forgotten it. I have been 
busily discussing scientific subjects with my friend 
here. I ought also to confess to this company 
that I have read only one of the novels of Walter 
Scott, that is i Ivanhoe ' ; but if God please, before 
my death I will read two more. My time is 
always much occupied in other directions, and it 
was not until I came to this country that 1 read 
even ' Ivanhoe.' " 

This pleasant bit of autobiographical confession 
opened the hearts of all present and the talk which 
followed was of unusual interest. 

I recall two memorable opportunities of the en- 
joyment of Agassiz' peculiar eloquence, an elo- 
quence not to be outshone \ one a social meeting 



122 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

at his own house, when he described the action of 
glaciers upon the surface of North America ; the 
other a public discourse upon embryology. They 
are never to be forgotten, and were appreciated 
by none more sincerely than by the " clear spirit " 
of his publisher and friend. 

In November, 1873, the diary continues : — 
" Agassiz is very ill — probably dying. What 
a different world it will be to us without him. 
Such a rich, expansive, loving nature. The Sat- 
urday Club will feel this to be their severest 
loss." 

From his earliest years Mr. Fields had been a 
lover of the histrionic art. I have already re- 
ferred to the opportunities afforded him for seeing 
the best acting while he was still a youth, and it 
was a taste fostered in his later years. He was 
not, in the common acceptation of the term, a 
great theatre-goer. The occasions were rare 
when he did not prefer his own library to the 
front box in any theatre, but when those occasions 
offered, he made, as Charles Dickens used to say of 
Madame Viardot, " an audience " in himself. He 
understood — as few persons outside the profession 
have ever done, the difficulties to be surmounted 
in order to obtain eminence, but eminence in any 
direction once achieved he was among the first to 
pay tribute to the artist. His knowledge of the 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 123 

literature of the stage was wide and accurate, 
and as Charles Lamb said of the fat woman sitting 
in the door-way, " it was a shrewd zephyr that 
could escape her," so it was a shrewd slip of the 
text, accent, rhythm, pronunciation, which could 
escape his keen observation and memory. The 
artists themselves were the first, of course, to rec- 
ognize such an audience, and the almost universal 
tribute of their friendship was one of the pleas- 
ures of his life. Many members of the profes- 
sion will recall happy hours passed under his roof, 
but of two or three of the most eminent who have 
gone from us, a brief record has been preserved. 
I have already spoken of Mrs. Mowatt and of Char- 
lotte Cilshman. 

Among Mr. Fields's letters from one of the most 
famous of our living actors, I find the following 
sentence of pathetic significance : " Any notice of 
any actor now-a-days, which is assuredly both un- 
solicited and unpaid for, is a refreshing rarity, and 
deserves a place in the most important part of 
' our shop,' among the curiosities." 

We believe the day is happily past for neglect 
either of artistic painstaking or artistic success. 
In Mr. Fields's opinion, both painstaking and suc- 
cess upon the stage demanded the same recogni- 
tion that these qualities demand in any other 
sphere of art. But his enjoyment of the society 



124 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

of actors was quite apart from any such reasoning. 
Nature first, and afterward the business of the ac- 
tor's life, has caused the entertainment of others 
to become his study. " Going to the play," means 
" a good time," and rest to the careworn. Any 
human being who has learned the science of en- 
tertaining, has indeed possessed himself of a beau- 
tiful gift. Many a dark mood may be cheated 
out of existence by this fine science. And it was 
a gift which always gave Mr. Fields an exquisite 
pleasure to see exercised. It would be a vain task 
to mention the names of living actors, men and 
women, who have turned to him continually as to 
a friend ; but the satisfaction he himself took in 
these relations is no less a satisfaction to recall 
now. 

His acquaintance with Charles Matthews must 
have begun with Matthews's first visit to America, 
for I remember an anecdote he used to relate of 
him long before the visit of 1871. Mr. Fields had 
enjoyed Matthews's playing sincerely ; it seemed 
to him perfect of its kind. "Matthews," he ex- 
claimed, when they met, " I enjoyed your per- 
formance beyond expression." " Ah, that is just 
it," said Matthews, " you don't express anything. 
How can your people expect to get the best out 
of an actor, if they don't speak or try to tell him 
so. They will never know what we can do. It is 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 125 

impossible to give one's best under such circum- 
stances." It was an excellent suggestion to a 
thoughtful hearer, and left the door wide open 
for some kind of expression in the future. In 
June, 1871, Mr. Matthews returned to Boston. 
It was not a convenient time to go to the theatre, 
but returning to town just in season one evening, 
we took a cup of tea at a restaurant near by, and 
went to see " £1000 a Year," which was followed 
by a short comedietta of his own, called " Toddle- 
kins " (and something else). His acting had a last- 
century flavor in it ; also it possessed the rapidity 
and perfection of the modern French stage, while 
it was altogether English. It was a very fine 
house, proving that the absolute perfection of his 
own style had at length brought him the recogni- 
tion he deserved. 

Later we saw him in " The Critic," Sheridan's 
play, but re-adapted by himself for our stage. 
The requisitions of the modern theatre were in- 
geniously engrafted upon the old play. Matthews 
had great talent, and inherited talent. He was at 
that time sixty-seven years old, without a sign of 
decadence. 

Where could be found a more brilliant man, 
a more fascinating companion, than Sothern ? As 
swift in wit as a French woman, as swift in action 
as a juggler, he combined with these gifts great 



126 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

tenderness and charm of nature. I am sorry to 
find no record of our intercourse with him except 
what is set down on the treacherous tablets of the 
memory, but I remember his coming was always 
a signal that the thermometer was rapidly rising 
and everything beginning to glow with a mid- 
summer radiance of feeling and color. 
I find in the diary : — 

" February, 1870. Mr. Fechter came to lunch. Talked 
freely of his own conception of Hamlet. Finds his Bos- 
ton audience wonderfully appreciative. . . . Told a touch- 
ing story of Mademoiselle Mars during her last years. 
She came upon the stage one night to personate one of 
the parts she had made famous in her youth. When 
she appeared some heartless wretch threw her a wreath 
of immortelles — as it were for her grave. She was 
shocked : drops stood on her brow, the rouge fell from 
her cheeks, and she stood motionless before the audience, 
— a picture of age and misery. She could not continue 
her part. 

" He spoke with intense enthusiasm of Frederick Le- 
maitre. ' The second-class actors were always arguing 
with him (only second-class people argue) and saying, 
4 Why do you wish me to stand here, Frederick ? ' 'I 
don't know,' he would say, 'only see that you do it.' . . . 

" It is odd that Fechter's eyes should be brown after 
all ! They look so light in the play. . . . His description 
of Dickens, as Fechter often saw him from the lawn at 
work at his desk, or when he rose, to join him at lunch, 
4 with tears on his cheek and a smile on his mouth,' was 
close to life and delightful. . . . 






AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 127 

" Saw Fechter in the ' Duke's Motto.' He was won- 
derfully fine. This is the play of which Dickens gave us 
such a humorous description. Fechter wished Mm to 
adapt it (John Brougham did it at last) ; and he went 
through the plot in such a rapid way with a baby in his 
arms, made up of a pillow which he snatched from the 
couch in Dickens's study, that it was perfectly impossible 
to understand a single word he said, English and French 
getting entangled in an inextricable medley. 

" June 14. Fechter has been here, plunged in deepest 
grief for the loss of his friend Charles Dickens. He 
was pathetic. . . . At * the very hour we were talking to- 
gether the body was brought into Westminster Abbey. 

"August. Dined with Fechter at Nahant. He had 
been in England, but had returned with many question- 
able and perverted notions of people and things. He 
was dramatic in his representations of persons, and made 
himself entertaining." 

" December, 1871. Just returned from seeing Fechter 
in Ruy Bias. The public had heard the news that he 
was to leave the Globe Theatre in four weeks. (He had 
made an engagement there for the winter.) The result 
was an enormous house. He played with great fire and 
care. He had a wretched cold, and his pronunciation 
was not only thick but very French, as it is apt to be- 
come when he is excited ; and we found it difficult some- 
times to catch a word ; but his audience were determined 
to be pleased, and they caught and applauded all his 
good points." . . . 

Dickens possessed a strong influence over Fech- 
ter, and while he lived seemed to keep him from 



128 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

sinking. He said, however, when Fechter decided 
to come to America: "He will doubtless make a 
great impression, but whether anything can pre- 
vent him from overturning his own fortunes re- 
mains to be seen. I shall do the best I can for 
him." 

The following passage from Mr. Fields's lecture 
on Cheerfulness will not be out of place here : — 

" Whoever has the magic gift, like Warren and Soth- 
ern and Owens, and Raymond and Boucicault, and Gil- 
bert and Clarke and Jefferson, and dear, sensible, funny, 
friendly Mrs. Vincent (whom heaven preserve, big bon- 
net and all, for many years to come), — whoever has that 
special endowment to raise a continued shout of honest 
laughter every evening in our various theatres, is a bene- 
factor to be greeted everywhere. When I go to see and 
hear these genuine sons and daughters of Momus, who 
bring to us so many hours of unalloyed happiness, I can 
but rejoice at every peal of hilarious pleasure that rings 
to the roof from my over-brainworked countrymen and 
women ; for each outburst from the audience seems a di- 
rect expression of * Down with the bridge of sighs and up 
with the bridge of joy ! ' Having been honored with the 
acquaintance (on and off the stage) of many of these 
ushers of mirth, these furrow dispensers from the brow 
of care, these helpers to good digestion, these half-ficti- 
tious, whole-hearted, most attractive people, I confess 
myself their insolvent debtor, who can never hope to 
pay even a dime on the dollar for all the delight they 
have given me." 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 129 

I return to the diary : — 

" December, 1867. Ole Bull and his son came in. 
Ole was like a sunny apparition and stayed but a mo- 
ment. He proposes to return to-morrow, however, to 
breakfast. He was eager to tell us of a }^oung Norwe- 
gian poet, Bjornson, thirty years old only, a man sure to 
be famous, who has written many beautiful things, among 
others a poem called 'The Merry Boy.' Mr. Fields asked 
him which was his favorite audience. The Norwegians 
of my native town, was his immediate reply. His pan- 
tomime is extraordinary. He half acted, half told how 
men, women, and children gathered about him there 
when he was to play, and how he drew his themes from 
subjects and objects familiar to him from childhood. He 
was never more exquisitely expressive, nor his handsome 
little son more appreciative. . . . One night, after play- 
ing in the Music Hall to an enormous audience, Ole Bull 
gave us the pleasure of his presence at supper. He 
talked much of his scheme for a new piano, which was 
absorbing him. ' The idea was betrayed to you by your 
violin,' said L. 'Yes,' responded Ole, delightedly, with 
that long dwelling upon the short word of assent pecul- 
iar to him. He described the various qualities of the 
' Amati,' the « Stradivarius ' and other violins. ' How 
about strings,' one asked. ' Oh ! there is a great differ- 
ence even in strings,' said he, 'your muttons must not be 
too civilized.' 

" In a letter to Mr. Fields describing his new piano, he 
says : ' Ericsson has been extremely kind in taking a 
lively interest in the instrument from the drawing only. 
He proposes to study the instrument after a hearing, and 



130 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

thinks he can reduce the weight of it by more than half 
by compensation and change of material, and counteract 
the sudden changes of temperature, etc. ... I do love 
you so much that I know you would be glad on my ac- 
count that such a reward should be mine after so many dis- 
appointments and failures. But if this also should prove 
a disappointment, well, we must stand on the fulcrum and 
try to move the world. In coining to Boston I '11 try to 

induce Professor to come to the meeting surely, and 

illustrate my theories with some instruments from his 
laboratory. With my violin I shall explain the tone 
phases, the construction of musical instruments in gen- 
eral, beginning with the history of the violin, the es- 
sence and harmony of musical expressions. I do feel so 
grateful to you to have obtained for me the honor and 
delight in laying before the society my individual con- 
victions in music. . . . 

" Your ever devoted, Ole Bull." 

In 1871 I find another record of a visit from 
Ole Bull accompanied by his young wife. He was 
like a fine strain of poetry. In rather more charm- 
ing English than usual, if possible, he described 
their beautiful home in Norway and his violin, 
"vo," he says, meaning who, "is seek." 

This casual mention of Ole Bull, giving no hint 
of his beautiful poetic presence, would indeed be 
omitted as utterly unworthy if it were not that 
Mr. Fields himself wrote a few words in remem- 
brance of his friend, which are to be printed in 
" Ole Bull's Life," now in preparation. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 131 

I wish it were possible in few words to convey 
the refinement and charm of Ole Bull's presence 
to those who have not known him. The childlike- 
ness of his nature was admirable, and endured to 
the end. It was not necessary when he was to 
give his friends the favor of a visit to suggest that 
he should bring his violin. He never failed to re- 
member that he could find his fullest expression 
through that medium, and when the proper mo- 
ment arrived was always ready to contribute his 
large share to the pleasure of the time. There 
was a generosity about bestowing himself in pri- 
vate for others which was delightful. He was 
proud to give what he possessed. His friends can- 
not forget his manner of going and standing with 
his violin in one corner of the library with his lit- 
tle audience at sufficient distance, when drawing 
up his fine figure to its full height and throwing 
back his head he would stand silent until he was 
prompted to begin ; it was a picture not to fade 
from the memory ; or when exciting himself over 
his subject he would stop suddenly and explain in 
a torrent of words and with dramatic gestures 
what he wished to convey. 

It was one of the valued privileges of Mr. 
Fields' s life to know George Putnam, the Uni- 
tarian preacher, and to listen to his discourses. 
Frequently on Sunday, when the weather per- 



132 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

mitted, he would walk out of town to hear him. 
I find in the diary : — „ 

" Sunday. Walked to Roxbury to hear Dr. Putnam. 
The discourse was upon the love between brothers and 
sisters, and of Jesus as our elder brother. Anything 
more tender or more simple can hardly be imag- 
ined." 

Again, — 

" Walked to Roxbury, and heard Dr. Putnam give 
one of his clear, strong pleas. His style is simplicity 
itself." 

" Heard Dr. Putnam yesterday on the advent of 
Christ, — the state of living expectantly which should 
possess the true followers. A moving discourse." . . . 

" Such a sermon from Dr. Putnam ! On worldly and 
unworldly gifts ; first, of the gifts our Lord has bestowed 
upon us by His teaching, and second, of the gifts that all 
the good and wise of the earth may give to men. It 
was a most uplifting discourse. The preacher, indeed, 
possesses the power given to the apostles of old ' to teach 
and to preach.' " 

" In speaking of the presence of our Lord at the feast, 
Dr. Putnam said last Sunday, ' He rewarded the hospi- 
tality of his friends by his presence.' " 

" Sunday. Perfect day ; walked to Roxbury. Dr. 
Putnam preached one of his noble discourses — touching, 
heroic, yet so reticent ! . . . The text was from St. Paul, 
' Seeing we also are compassed about with so great a 
cloud of witnesses.' The encompassing cloud of wit- 
nesses urging us to new struggles and farther heights 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 133 

had been seen by him in clear, spiritual vision. He 
could tell us of them ; of the heroic and the lovely ; of 
our own dear ones; how they were standing and calling 
to us, surrounding and inciting us. 

" He rose to a height of eloquence of which he him- 
self was totally unconscious. He had been listening to 
his beloved, who have gone before, and they had taught 
him what he should speak. He recalled the noble 
verse : — 

' ' ' Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 
And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time.' 

He said our witnesses not alone regard but report our 
ways, and teach us distinctly the one lesson that we 
should live uprightly, dutifully, kindly, humbly ; for our 
days are few ; and what can any worldly good avail if 
we forget to listen to the loving ones who beckon us to 
come their way ? " 

It was often a part of Monday's relaxation for 
Dr. Putnam to go into the book-shop, and, when it 
was possible, to find the publisher in his corner and 
exchange a few words at least. One day, after 
the removal of Fields, Osgood & Co. to Tremont 
Street, he looked in, and, after a bit of personal 
talk, said : " Well, I suppose you anticipate a good 
many pleasant days to come in this place." " No," 
said Mr. Fields, " I don't, doctor. I don't look 
forward to anything." " That's right," was the 
reply. " Sufficient unto the day is the good there- 
of." 



134 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Many a pleasant talk have these two enjoyed 
among the books. Dr. Putnam was an appreciator 
of a first-rate novel, and I especially recall his en- 
thusiasm over Mrs. Gaskell's beautiful tales of 
"Mary Barton" and " North and South.'' 

They both seemed to " take comfort " in each 
other's friendship and society. 

Of Mr. Fields's intimate friendship and corre- 
spondence with Bayard Taylor little or nothing can 
be reproduced in these pages. They exchanged 
many letters during the long period of their happy 
relation to each other, a relation which was never 
broken ; but in view of the record of Bayard Tay- 
lor's life, soon to be given to the public, and the 
late publication of Mr. Fields's own selection from 
Taylor's letters lately printed in the " Congrega- 
tionalist," I will attempt to give nothing further 
here. 

Nevertheless, the remembrance of many a pleas- 
ant social occasion recurs, especially during the 
season when his lectures upon German literature 
were given at the Lowell Institute. He had then 
finished his latest work, " Deukalion," and his 
mind and heart were filled with it. 

His memory was not only a repository of litera- 
ture, properly speaking, but of the freaks of liter- 
ature, and it was as astonishing as it was amusing 
to hear the long passages he would repeat from 
Chivers and other eccentric authors. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 135 

His tender feelings for his friends, and his boy- 
ish ways with them, were peculiarly his own. His 
visits to Boston were a festival to him, and to 
them his coming was the signal for many a mid- 
night talk and much wholesome festivity. 

The brief record which remains in the diary of 
the years from 1861 to 1876 will be henceforth 
given almost without interruption. 

" Boston, Sunday, December 8, 1861. At home all 
day, except a walk at noon over Cambridge bridge. The 
climate reminds us of Rome. It is almost too warm for 
fires until now as evening approaches. The morning rays 
came through a veil of soft gray mist which allowed the 
wings of the birds and the sails of the vessels (the latter 
like birds of larger growth) to gleam white as silver, 
and the whole bay looked for a few hours like a faded 
opal. At noon the sun poured out its warm, full rays, 
making it hard to guess if this were home or Italy. Some 
young and handsome boatmen darted under the bridge in 
their wherries as we returned. They were bound for a 
pull into the white waves of the harbor. Before the walk 
read aloud, ' One Word More with E. B. B.,' one of the 
most extraordinary poems in the language. We are read- 
ing ' Wordsworth's Life and Letters.' . . . 

" Yesterday morning Artemus Ward breakfasted with 
us. We had a merry time. J. was in grand humor, 
representing people and incidents in the most incompar- 
able manner. Artemus was complimented upon his suc- 
cess, and his power of amusing others. He said little 
but twinkled all over. Once, however, when asked how 



136 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

he was received by his very first audiences before tbey 
understood wbat be had to give them, be said : ' I was 
prepared for 'a good deal of gloom, but I bad no idea 
tbey would be so much depressed ! ' . . . 

"December, 1863. Mr. Hawthorne passed the night. 
He has already written the first chapter of a new ro- 
mance, but be was so uncertain of what be bad done as to 
find it impossible to continue until be asked Mr. Fields 
to read it and beard him express his sincere admiration 
for the work. This has given him better heart to go on 
with it. He talked of the 'Atlantic Monthly,' said he 
thought it the most ably edited magazine in the world, 
and was bound to be a success, 4 with this exception,' be 
said, c I fear its politics. Beware ! What will you do in 
a year or two when the politics of the country change ? ' 
4 1 will quietly wait for that time to come,' Mr. Fields 
answered, 'then I can tell you.' . . . Talked and laughed 
about Boswell, to whom Hawthorne accords a very high 
place, and Mr. Fields recalled Johnson's saying of a man 
who had committed some misdemeanoi-, and was on the 
verge of suicide in consequence, ' Why doesn't the man 
go somewhere where he is not known, instead of to the 
devil, where he is known ? ' Speaking of the ' Atlantic 
Monthly,' Mr. Fields said the magazine profited by hav- 
ing the best living proof-reader. ' He is so interested in 
its success that I always say, No N , no Fields.' 

" January, 1864. J. T. F. passed yesterday in Con- 
cord. He went first to see Hawthorne, who was sitting 
alone gazing into the fire ; his gray dressing-gown, which 
became him like a Roman toga, wrapped about his figure. 
He said he bad done nothing for three weeks, but of 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 137 

course his romance is maturing in his mind. and 

had sent word they were coming to call, so Mrs. 

Hawthorne had gone out to walk (' thrown out on picket- 
duty,' said), leaving word at home that Mr. Haw- 
thorne was ill, and could see no one." . . . 

" Sunday, October 23, came news of Colonel Charles 
R. Lowell's death." 

" November, 1865. Governor Parsons, of Alabama, 
lunched with us. He has sad stories to tell us of the suf- 
fering and destitution of the South, especially of his own 
State. He has seen cities laid waste and burned to the 
ground, with books and pictures, and every precious relic 
a home can contain. In Sherman's ' March,' the town 
of Selma, forty miles south of his residence, was burned 
in that way, and the suffering of the inhabitants was 
terrible to behold. We know nothing of the horrors of 
war in New England, he says; and when we look in his 
face, and hear his pathetic tales, I am persuaded that 
many of our people do escape a sense of this terrible 
calamity. He is a sad man. He comes here for the 
purpose of urging Massachusetts to forgiveness, and to 
send help to the sufferers. . . . He went last night to 
the Union Club, where Governor Andrew introduced 
him, and pleaded his cause. Charles Sumner spoke 
against ^it. . . . Governor Parsons has a negro slave 
whom he purchased for his body-servant thirty years 
ago. When there were no more slaves he paid him reg- 
ular wages. Then other people came and offered him 
much higher wages than he was able to pay, but the old 
servant said : i No, Massa Parsons lubs me, and I lub 
him, and we shan't separate now.' 



138 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" November, 1865. There is talk of establishing 
another business house in New York, large enough to 
represent Ticknor and Fields. It is an enormous ship 
already, and must be watched momently by the man at 
the helm, or she will drive upon the rocks. 

" Boston, July, 1866. Just returned from Berkshire. 
Glad to be at home again, where we can see the sunset 
over the bay, and feel the fresh morning breeze. Almost 
every day something delightful occurs ; but the pleasant- 
est of all occurrences is when the day rises and sets with 
nothing to break the stillness of midsummer. . . . 

" August. Left for the Isles of Shoals. On our way 
we heard of the success of the Ocean cable. What glo- 
rious reward to Cyrus Field after eight years of delay 
and disappointment. ' Peace in Europe,' reported as 
the first message. . . . The day was fair, the shores of 
the Piscataqua gleaming with white houses, waving trees, 
pleasure boats, and all the gay surroundings of human 
life in harmony with nature. Reaching the islands we 
followed the troop of people over a plank walk to an 
over-crowded hotel, and bided our time. After dinner, 
having seen our fellow-passengers safely reembarked for 
Portsmouth, we started to explore the island, walking 
over the bleached rocks, and threading our way through 
bayberry. Dark clouds rolled up fold over fold from 
the north, summer's loveliness reigned in the south, and 
all around the rote of the never silent sea came up from 
the cliffs which hedged us in. Everywhere, if grass were 
found, we set our feet on graves ; if stones, they were 
white-bearded like Tithonus. We peeped in clefts and 
crannies where the sea reached up awful fingers and 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 139 

shook them in the face of the intruder. There was no 
wind, only a brooding sadness overspread the scene. 
Something of the dread of the place came over us, a 
knowledge of the dreariness of winter and the loneliness 
of life when the busy crowd had been swept away by the 
breath of autumn. By and by, returning to the hotel, 
the cheerful look of the place was pleasant — young girls 
darting to and fro from the bath to their rooms, or walk- 
ing on the piazza with their elders, or playing croquet, 
watched by gentlemen on the balcony. We walked to 
the cottage and lingered in the garden brilliant with 
marigolds, nasturtiums, coreopsis, and fragrant with 
mignonette ; it was full of wild birds too, besides a par- 
rot and two canaries, in cages, hanging in the porch. 
Sitting by the window was a large gray-haired woman 
wrapped in a white shawl. She was like the full pale 
summer moon, so calm, and fair, and sweet. There she 
sat lovingly watched over by her daughter, a constantly 
redeeming presence. 

" Inside the little parlor was gay with pictures and 
flowers. Among the latter a crowd of glowing poppies. 
As we bent over them a pleasant voice sang the old 
song ' Poppies ! Poppies ! Poppies like these I own are 
rare ! ' 

" There was a drift-wood fire that night and there 
were ghost stories, and voices were heard far into the 
night. 

" Meantime, in the pauses, the sound of the sea came 
from every side and we knew its awful vast stretched 
between us and home. 

" The morning was resplendent. We were soon in a 



140 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

boat bound for Star Island. The place was very still in 
the sunshine of the day. The fishers were gone to sea, 
the women were at their household duties. We passed 
through their yards and over their walls seeing only a 
woman occasionally at door or window, whom our dear 
guide, C. T., would accost with k Good-morning, Susan,' 
or, ' Are you well, Sarah ? ' as if they were members of 
her family. There are only about fifty families left of 
the old town of Gosport. It was comparatively a large 
place in the days when Spain carried her commerce 
hither for the dun fish, which was then beautifully cured 
by these people. At present they have nearly lost the 
art, for they have lost the art of taking pains. We 
crossed Star Island, picking our way among the graves, 
or stepping from fallen stone to stone, to the wild cliffs 
and chasms on the opposite side. How wild and desolate 
it was, even in the summer sunshine ! Then we rowed 
to ' Smutty-Nose,' where our guide passed two years of 
her childhood before the building of the light-house. 
The story was not new to us, but the utter desolation of 
the place, in spite of the song-sparrow and the sunshine, 
the pimpernel, cinquefoil, morning-glory, and all the love- 
liness of summer, could not be forgotten. We heard the 
howling of the winter wind and saw the Spanish vessel 
on the rocks. . . . Rowed round White Island, but the 
sea was too high to land. . . . 

" October, 1866. Mr. Fields received to-day the most 
extraordinary letter of all the many strange ones it has 
been his fortune to have addressed to him. It is from an 
English woman well born and well educated. She is 
now in this country, however, and called upon him last 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 141 

week. This letter is so long that although clearly writ- 
ten it required upwards of half an hour to read it aloud. 
She gave her personal history unblushingly, and if one 
half be true she has had as wide a run in the best society 
of Europe and puts as high a value upon it as any woman 
ever did. She estimates her own talents very highly, too. 
While reading our feelings oscillated between wonder 
and pity. . . . 

" He has also received an autograph book from a man 
who left the volume himself with a polite request 'for 
Mr. Fields's autograph.' The book was very handsome, 
French, richly bound, and contained many good signa- 
tures and letters. In a few days the owner returned to 
get his book, left his thanks for the autograph, and said 
any time Mr. Fields wished his hair cut lie was the man 
and would come to his house at any moment to do it! . . . 

" Mr. Fields has found new papers, never collected, in 
Fraser's magazine, by Thackeray. He is making a book 
of them." 

Mr. George William Curtis, with a kindness sure 
as his literary touch , wrote after this publication : 
" What a pleasant book you have made of Thack- 
eray's dropped stitches ! It is really a new work 
by him. It is like finding a lost portfolio of a 
great painter's sketches. They have all his man- 
ner. If the fruit is small it is none the less a 
SeckeL' , 

" Ah ! We saw Ristori last night, She was full of 
dignity and pathos. J. T. F. says she was Queen Mary 
and he will never be present at an execution again ! . . . 



142 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

"January, 1867. A volume of Pope was sent to 
Mr. Fields to-day formerly owned by President Lincoln. 
The name, and a letter in the handwriting of our great 
president, are inscribed within. 

" Bayard Taylor has sent us a picture in oils, by him- 
self, of the Temple of Apollo Epicurius, also one of the 
ruins of Mantinea for T. B. A. So we had a grand open- 
ing last evening. Seeing these recalled what Bayard 

said of his little , now seven years old. She has a 

fondness for Greek history and was found the other day 
charging vigorously into the woodpile ; when her mother 
asked was she was doing, she said she was an Athenian 
pursuing the Lacedemonians. So much for being born 
in Greece ! 

" Professor Felton's lectures on Greece are now in type. 
J. T. F. is delighted with them, and has already finished 
the first volume, though they only came from the printer 
last night ! . . . 

" Very large meeting at the Union Club last night. 
The question whether the House should be kept open Sun- 
days or no was proposed for discussion. Every room was 
open and filled. Governor Andrew made an excellent 
speech, full of his fine humanity, which is so sure to 
carry the majority over to his side. He proposed that 
the House should be open with restrictions, a few rooms, 
and no liquor. 

" The question of sending aid to Crete was also brought 
up. . . . 

" Thursday. Willis was buried at St. Paul's Church. 
A gracious circle of poets surrounded the body. 

"February, Wednesday. Called on Miss Catherine 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 143 

Sedgwick, who, although the shadow of many a year 
hangs over her, sits by her fireside talking wittily and 
wisely. Her presence and conversation are wonderfully 
attractive. She has the power of expressing tenderest 
sentiment, yet so relieved by a keen wit, that you are 
cheered and never offended by the quick contrast." 

" Plymouth, N. H., June, 1867. This place is now 
always associated with Hawthorne. Yesterday, sitting 
in the lustrous loveliness of summer, our thoughts were 
filled with his memory, when the mail arrived, bringing 
extracts from his diary. We read them together, with 
keen enjoyment ; looking up to the hills, meanwhile, ra- 
diant in sun and shadow. Suddenly we heard the sound 
of martial music : it was a public funeral ; the effect was 
very solemn and inspiring. One of the responsible per- 
sons connected with the house said he assisted Mr. Haw- 
thorne to his room that night, — the one adjoining that of 
General Pierce, — and that Hawthorne passed from sleep 
in life to the sleep of death with so easy a transition that 
his posture was unchanged, and the flight of his spirit 
only discovered when his friend placed his hand upon 
him lovingly, in one of the wakeful pauses of the night, 
and found his body cold. The distress of General Pierce 
was indescribable, the narrator said, and 4 indeed, sir, if 
one didn't know anything about his politics, it would be 
said of him that he was one of the best of men. There 
is nobody who comes to this house of more uniform and 
unfailing gentlemanliness than he.' " 

" Camptok, Monday. Rose at half-past four, break- 
fasted at half-past five. Mr. Fields went to Boston. 
. . . The night shut down heavily." 



144 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" Tuesday. Still warm and raining. About three 
o'clock in the morning is the time now to hear the birds, 
They clamor wondrously then. Rain, rain, the livelong 
day, with now and then a pause of perfect stillness, with- 
out bird or breath of wind, and then the rain again — 
patter, patter, through the leaves. Watched for my 
traveler at night from half-past seven until nine o'clock. 
At length he arrived, wet and tired. The horse found 
the roads heavy, and they came slowly. He met two 
men in the cars who had been to see Booth in < Hamlet.' 
4 1 tell you,' said the youngest, ' you have to read that 
play to see what he is talking about. You 'd better read 
it the first chance you get. You '11 understand it a deal 
better then.' 'Well,' rejoined the other, 'I like to see 
him in " Hamlet." I always see him in that play. Why, 
I 've seen it three times. I tried " Richard the Third " 
once, but somehow it didn't seem natural, so I went back 
to " Hamlet." ' They continued to recount stories of the 
stage of more than doubtful authenticity. At last, one 
asked the other if he had ever seen the elder Booth. 
' No,' was the reply ; ' but I 've heerd that he acted 
" Richard Third " so true, that they would get up and 
hiss, — not him, you see, but the wicked man he made 
b'lieve to be.' " 

. . . " Drove over what is called the New Discovery 
Road, though it is years since the gap was discovered be- 
tween the hills opening the way to Centre Harbor. We 
are fifteen hundred feet above the sea, while passing a 
portion of the road. The hills rise stern and bleak around. 
Two lakes lie embowered in green at the foot of Mount 
Prospect, and the whole effect is mountainous rather 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 145 

than hilly. In our ascent we met several children, all 
perfectly untamed, as if they never had seen a stranger 
before. One witch-like little thing, a half-fledged Madge 
Wildfire, came careering over the top of the hill on her 
way from school, swinging her arms and kicking up her 
legs. Suddenly she caught sight of us proceeding slowly 
in our wagon, and, penetrated with fear, crept like a calf 
to the side of the road among the bushes. There she 
stood trembling, though somewhat reassured by our 
voices, but the moment we were sufficiently advanced to 
give her a chance, she went flying off down the road as 
if distracted. Afterward we saw a little girl about ten 
years old with two older boys. The valiant youths hid 
themselves behind their sister, who disdained to appear 
alarmed, though her eyes looked startled. The wildness 
of the scenery could not give us such a sense of savage 
solitude as these children did. . . . The day was so beau- 
tiful, that we lingered till the light faded and the stars 
appeared." 

" Plymouth, June 21st. We sit where we can drink 
in the beauty of the river and the hills, and J. has read 
aloud to me nearly the whole day. From our window 
we see the river winding through the wide interval until 
it becomes lost among the hills. We have seen few 
places in the world so beautiful. He astonished me in 
our walk this morning by going up to an old farm-house 
and declaring that was exactly what he wanted, and he 
meant to have it and live here six months in the 
year. . . ." 

" Boston, July. Mr. Fields had a very busy day. 
Receiving perpetually, everybody, from to the drunk- 

10 



146 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

ard, who insisted upon following him home. Indeed, he 
forgot his promise to dine out. I was obliged to go with- 
out him, trusting he would finally remember, which he 
did, three quarters of an hour after the time." 

" Our beloved neighbors came to inquire after his 
hand, which is lame, — an affection of the nerves which 
prevents him from writing. . . . 

"August. Manchester-by-the-Sea. Walked to the Dana 
Place ; found Mr. Dana, Senior, sitting on the piazza as 
we approached — two or three fluttering dresses could be 
seen on the beach below and a child at play. Mr. Dana 
is anticipating his eightieth birthday. His white hair 
and slender figure are so combined with perfect vitality 
of expression as to prevent any thought of decadence in 
connection with his great age. It was a beautiful day, 
and the scene was one of loveliness and significance. 
The memory of Allston, the painter, who married a sis- 
ter of Mr. Dana, is tenderly guarded in his household, 
and chairs from his studio, standing on the piazza, in- 
vited us to rest. Just at sunset, with the moonlight in 
the sky, we wandered through the woods. It was wild 
and dim. Returning we came out upon the lawn ; the 
house-door stood open, the sunset streamed across, and 
young girls were moving about in gay dresses. 

" Standing in the hall door the full view of the sea 
and its sad perpetual music from the sands below struck 
upon the eye and ear. Children were swinging in a 
hammock under the low pines on the edge of the cliff. 
Here we sat, while Mr. Dana told us how he and his 
daughter discovered this beautiful domain, and through 
what difficulties they had established their home in this 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 147 

wonderful wilderness. But lie chiefly loved to talk of 
subjects such as poets choose : — 

"Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, 
Are a substantial world both pure and good; 
Round these with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, 
Our pastime and our happiness will grow. 
There do I find a never-failing store 
Of personal themes ; . . . 
Hence have I genial seasons; hence have I 
Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought; — 
And thus from day to day my little boat 
Rocks in its harbor, lodging peaceably." 

I venture to print here two notes from Mr. 
Dana, as giving some idea not only of his own 
tastes but of his relations to Mr. Fields : — 

" Dear Me. Fields, — While your proposal gratifies 
me it also troubles me, for I feel that I must decline it, 
and that looks somewhat ungracious. That you should 
have thought of one who for a long while has been al- 
most a stranger to literary circles, gives you a claim. 
Above all, the fast friend of many years, who spoke so 
many kind and bold words for me — when I most needed 
them — what have I to say in not making him a trifling 
return ? Nothing, but that I have been so long a mere 
idle recipient of the good things of others, that I have 
nothing of my own to give. I do not feel at the present 
time as if I would do justice to B., or satisfy myself. It 
is a special relief to my conscience that there are those 
of your acquaintance who truly appreciate him, and 
would do the thing thoroughly and well. You speak of 
6 Thanatopsis,' you remember ' The Past.' It just occurs 



148 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

to me that years back I said to B., ' Could only one of 
your pieces be saved, short as it is, still, I should select 
4 The Past.' ' So would I,' he answered. * Yet I have 
never seen it alluded to in notices of rue.' It has been 
spoken of since that time. 

" Very sincerely yours, 

"Richabd H. Dana. 

"43 Chestnut St., Nov. 27, 1863." 

" My deae Sib, — Pardon my keeping Christopher 
so long. Was he not a man ? — Oh, large, brave heart, 
yet tender as a child ! But no letter-writer ! What a 
pity that the bulk of the work should have been so in- 
creased by letters which are little else than so much dead 
weight, — scarce half a dozen of them worth the paper. 
Aside from these, there is a fresh air blowing upon us 
from out the spirit of the man, which seems to breathe 
over and through us something of his rejoicing health 
and strength. With great regard, 
" Truly yours, 

"Richard H. Dana. 

" 43 Chestnut St., Nov. 24. 
" Mr. J. T. Fields, Charles St." 

"August, 1867. Charles Dickens's agent arrived to 
make arrangements for his last visit to this country. 
The description of Mr. Fields given him by the ' Chief ' 
was so accurate that he was recognized immediately. 

" September. Mr. Fields gave me an account of his 
interview, to day, with Orestes Brownson, now a man of 
seventy years. After studying theology he followed its 
suggestions in many different directions, espousing each 
form of doctrine in turn as the only true religion. At 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 149 

length, when by the independent action of his mind he 
believed he had found the rest he sought in Romanism, 
the stigma of frivolity was cast upon him. ... He has 
been chosen by Admiral Dahlgren and his wife to edit 
the life of their son, the heroic Ulric Dahlgren. They 
had prepared the book, but found they were in need of 
a literary adviser. After some conversation upon the 
subject, Mr. Brownson said the suffering of the Dahlgrens 
was not exceptional : he had himself lost one son in the 
war, and another was maimed for life. He said his mother 
had only lately died, at ninety years of age. In the year 
1861, her health being already enfeebled, she called her 
son to her bedside and said, ' What is this I hear, Orestes ; 
what is this trouble at the South ? ' 4 They are trying to 
destroy the Union, mother, and there must be a great 
war.' ' Well, my son, what are you going to do about 
it ? ' ' What can one man do, mother ? ' ' Do, why you 
must go to the war, you and your sons ! ' 

" Eight of her grandsons were lost in the war : six 
died, two deserted. She said the suffering caused her 
by the last two was greater than that of the death of 
the others. She was born on the day of Washington's 
thanksgiving after the war of the Revolution. She 
thought she should live to see the day of Lincoln's 
thanksgiving, and so she did. She died the following 
week. 

" Tuesday. Manchester-by-the-Sea. Mr. Fields 
had a busy day in town. Mrs. Hawthorne brought him 
fourteen closely written volumes of her husband's jour- 
nal, — so fine as to be difficult to read, though written 
quite plainly and entirely without corrections. Such ac- 



150 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

curate notes of observation and such, strange records of 
interesting people and places, have been rarely before 
made. There are also piles on piles of romances begun 
but never finished, — chapters here and there of exquis- 
ite beauty, but nothing completed. . . . 

" Among other strange persons who called to-day is 
the poor man who was cast away in the steamer London, 
bound for Australia, and whose heart-rending description 
we read in the ' Cornhill Magazine.' He is young, and 
has a fine business in Australia ; but says he can never go 
to sea again. He is anxious to have Mr. Fields print 
that portion of the history omitted by the ' Cornhill,' in 
which he explains why the accident took place and where 
the accusation should rest. Mr. Fields advised him to 
wait, because the young man was pecuniarily involved, 
until the case should come before the court, as it must do 
shortly. . . . 

"Boston, September. Before breakfast he wrote let- 
ters from dictation on account of his lame hand. Among 

them letters of introduction for Mr. to American 

colleges. told us of Mrs. Carlyle's fondness for 

flowers. After her death Carlyle showed him plants, as 
they walked in the garden from Farringford and Evers- 
ley. He said, as Miss Cushman had said before him, 
' she was cleverer than Carlyle.' ' Why she never wrote 
I cannot divine,' said . 

" Mr. Fields told me to-day an anecdote he loves to 
recall of Willis (it may have appeared in print some- 
where), of his watching a little ragged girl one day in 
London, who was peering through an area railing. A 
window of a comfortable eating-house gave upon this 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 151 

area, and a man sat at the window taking a good dinner. 
The child watched his every movement, saw him take a 
beefsteak and get all things in readiness to begin, then 
he stopped and looked round. 4 Now a pertaty,' mur- 
mured the child. . . . 

" Governor Andrew came in the evening. He said 
the Rebel General Jeff. Thompson was coming to his 
house and would we adjourn thither. Of course we said 
4 Yes,' and a strange evening we had. Thompson talked 
without let or hindrance. A lank, bony man, with sin- 
ews like steel, eye like a hawk, mouth thin and flat as a 
fish's, high cheek-bones, feet out of shape, from his hard 
marches probably, his legs twisted one over the other as 
he talked. i Waal, I '11 jest tell ye how 't was. I was 
the man that bought the rope to hang John Brown.' 

" ' We 've been awfully whipped though, and our only 
safety is in reconstruction.' His speech photographed 
the various scenes he had been through. He swore con- 
tinually, and ended by giving us an Indian dance. Jeff. 
Thompson had been a guerilla chief, or as he himself 
phrased it, < had four thousand men under his command, 
who reported to no man but himself.' One of his aids 
was a wild Indian, who brought him a prisoner one day 
who refused to surrender his sword. ' Surrender,' cried 
Jeff, in a terrible rage, ' or my Indian shall scalp you.' 
The man still demurring, Jeff, ordered the Indian to set 
upon him. He began with a kind of wild howl, dancing 
around his victim, and flourishing his tomahawk. In 
another moment the man would have lost his scalp had 
not fear caused him to succumb. The whole picture was 
given with terrible vividness. We came home shudder- 
ing." 



152 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" November 1st. Governor Andrew lies dead. Since 
the death of President Lincoln no man can be so great a 
loss to the country. To us, as neighbors and friends, the 
loss is doubled, for he failed in none of the hospitalities 
of daily life. He was benevolent and accessible always, 
and as charitable a man, in the largest sense of the word, 
as ever walked the earth. When Ole Bull's son was 
quite a child, he said to Mr. Fields one day in broken 
language, stopping short as they walked across the Com- 
mon, ' Mr. Fields, you must thank God for your disposi- 
tion.' Surely, we might say this also of Governor An- 
drew." 

" November 2d. Funeral of this great good man ! 
The sun shone through a veil of autumnal mist, as we 
walked across the Public Garden to the church, and the 
trees shook their last gold leaves pensively in the blue 
air. It was a lovely season, and tempered like the na- 
ture of the friend we had lost. Agassiz joined us, and 
we proceeded together to the church. Nothing could 
have been more fitting and inspiring than Mr. Clarke's 
service and tribute." 

" November \th. Great meeting of merchants to con- 
solidate the fund as a memorial of Governor Andrew. 
Mr. Fields put down one thousand dollars for Ticknor 
and Fields. It was an eloquent and deeply enthusiastic 
occasion." 

" November V^th. Dickens reached Boston yesterday. 
J. T. F. went down the harbor to meet him. He was in 
grand health and spirits. The night was glorious, and 
Dickens seemed impressed with its sublime clearness and 
beauty." 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 153 

" November 27th. They have fallen into a daily habit 
of walking together, and J. comes home filled with C. 
D.'s inexhaustible and most interesting talk." 

" November 29th. They dined alone together to-day, 
and sat four hours, amusing each other with endless 
characteristic representations. Mr. Fields gave his pic- 
ture of the chimney-sweep, and Dickens in his turn 
gave the poet Rogers to the life, and Lady Blessington's 
receptions, 'to which I thought it was the thing to 
go when I was a young man,' also an excellent descrip- 
tion of Mr. and Mrs. Lewes. The latter he finds most 
interesting < with her shy manner of saying brilliant 
things.' . . . He talked of the mistake it was to fancy 
that childhood forgot anything ; it is age that forgets. 

" He spoke of Mr. Fi oude, saying, 'he is a brave 
man,' and with most cordial liking both for him and his 
works. . . . He repeated the story of his having burned 
all the letters of Sydney Smith when his daughter, Lady 
Holland, applied for permission to print them, and with 
these letters all his own private correspondence. ' For I 
thought if I should meet Sydney Smith in the Shades, 
and he should say, " what have you done with those let- 
ters "' a significant shrug expressed the rest, though 

lie added immediately, ' Perhaps he would have said, 
" You should have brought them with you where they 
would crackle well." ' 

" Monday night Charles Dickens's first reading. The 
audience seemed one vast ear and eye ; the people sat 
fixed and speechless. Every one seemed drawn to that 
great sympathetic nature, and as if they longed in some 
peculiar way to give him their confidence ! And how in 
the anteroom afterward he and his friend embraced and 



154 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES. 

laughed, and then embraced again from the very excite- 
ment of the occasion ! 

" Tuesday. The reading was quite as wonderful but 
quieter in its character. We went, as usual, at his re- 
quest, to speak with him after it was ended. He was in 
good spirits but very tired. ; You can't think,' he said, 
'what resolution it requires to dress again after it is 
over ! ' 

" Monday, December 9. First reading in New York. 
4 The Carol ' was far better given than in Boston, be- 
cause the applause was more ready and stimulated the 
reader. Indeed the enthusiasm was rapturous. Dickens 
sent to request us to come to his room. He was much 
exhausted, but after taking food, his warmth and vigor 
returned. 

" Wednesday. At four o'clock Dickens came to dine, 
later we went together to the theatre, and afterward 
back to the hotel, where we sat talking until one o'clock. 
Every moment was full of vivid interest. In speaking 
of that great railway accident described in ' All the Year 
Round,' he mentioned the curious fact of his chronometer 
watch, perfect up to that moment, becoming subject to 
eccentricities, yet this was rather as an illustration of the 
subtle effect the accident had upon him than remarkable 
in itself. The play that night was really very dull, and 
he sat talking, but with such care in managing voice and 
gesture that only a keen observer would have discovered 
he was inattentive to the stage. After our return he 
laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks at the mem- 
ory of the laughter he had seen in the faces of his own 
audience the night before, representing the different 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 155 

phases of character and the different effect of laughter on 
each. Speaking of Fechter he said : 4 If he were a writer 
how marvelous his powers of representation would be ! 
I who for so many years have been studying the best 
way of putting things have often felt utterly amazed and 
distanced by him.' At the ballet Dickens observed the 
honest faces of the women, and became much interested 
in one of them who seemed to have lost something, per- 
haps a trinket, and who wept as she danced. Poor child ! 
Her tears only made her eyes shine the brighter to pit 
and gallery ! . . . 

" Last night of the first course of readings in New 
York. Dickens was delighted with his audience : ' As 
good as Paris,' he said, when he invited us into his room 
afterward. 

" Boston, Christmas Eve. Dickens came to dine and 
talked all the time as he will do when the moment comes 
that he sees it is expected. He is by no means a man 
who loves to talk. His dramatic touches are peculiarly 
his own, but are of course more difficult to recall even 
than his words. Describing a little incident which hap- 
pened while in New York, and seeing some doubt of its 
verity on the faces of his friends, he said ruefully : ' I 
assure you it is so ! And all I can say is, how astonishing 
it is that I should be perpetually having things happen 
to me with regard to people that nobody else in the 
world can be found to believe.' . . . Went to hear ' The 
Carol.' How beautiful it was ! The whole house rose 
and cheered ! The people looked at him with gratitude 
as to one who held a candle in a dark way. Afterward 
he invited us to come to him, but he was so very tired 



156 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

we should haye done better to stay away except that he 
sent for us. 

" Friday. Quietly at home together. It was really a 
novelty. 

" Saturday night, January 4. Mr. Dickens arrived 
punctually. He was in good spirits in spite of a ca- 
tarrh, which only leaves him during the two hours at 
night when he is reading in public. He was full of 
amusing anecdotes. We were somewhat jealous because 
New York heard ' Marygold ' first. 4 Please God,' he 
said, ' 1 '11 do it as well for you.' 

" Sunday morning, bright and clear. His cold no 
better, but he is wonderfully gay; pleased and amused 
also with his new surroundings. ... I hardly know any- 
thing more diverting than when he begs not ' to be set 
going ' on one of his readings by a quotation or other- 
wise, and odd enough it is to hear him go on having been 
so touched off. He has been a great student of Shake- 
speare, which is continually discovered in his conversation. 
His love of the theatre is something which never pales, 
he says, and the people who go upon the stage, how- 
ever poor their pay, or hard their lot, love it, he thinks, 
too well ever to adopt another vocation of their free 
will. . . . 

" February 21. We accompany him to Providence 
to-night to hear 'Marygold.' 

"Saturday. Have heard 'Marygold.' The audience 
was not responsive, but we were penetrated by it. Subt- 
lest of all the readings, it requires more of the listener 
than any other. From beginning to end it is worthy 
of close study. Dickens was gentle, kind, affectionate. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 1&7 

We played a game of cards together, which was a pure 
effort of memory to try to wear away something of the 
excitement of the reading. It was not of much use. 

" Boston, Monday. Dickens came to dinner. We 
sat four hours. He read a short extract from an English 
newspaper, the deposition of a child three years old 
against ' Mother Jaggers,' a secreter and killer of babies. 
The child called itself ' the baby-ganger,' whose duty 
it was to sit up in the middle of the bed with seven 
babies and give them the bottle when they cried. De- 
ponent saw ' Mother Jaggers ' one day ' take a drop of 
gin,' when by some means 4 the ganger ' falling into the 
fire, and no one being there who could extricate it, it has 
been disabled for life. He intends to look up this matter 
as soon as he returns to England. . . . Last night during 
the reading a telegram arrived bringing news of the 
impeachment of President Johnson. . . . The two 
friends walked about seven miles at noon, which is their 
average. . . . 

" Wednesday. Dickens came to pass the evening. He 
was full of life and frolic, and kept winning the memory 
game with cards which he called ' Lady Nincumwitch ' 
in such a preternatural manner that at last we suspected 
him of some plan to aid remembrance which the rest of 
us had not the wit to discover. He explained after a 
while that he invented each time a little story by means 
of which the cards were strung together in his mind, but 
as the story seemed to us as difficult as the cards we ac- 
knowledged ourselves well beaten. 

" March 6. Dickens dined with us. He made all man- 
ner of fun of his friend for trying to i show him ' some 



V68 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

new fruit-houses on their return from Cambridge, where 
he had already been shown so much that he began to 
think he should feel a bitter hatred to the man who 
should propose the next thing to be seen. . . . 

" March 31. Dined with Dickens at the Parker House. 
Found him in the best of good spirits because his travel- 
ing is over, and he is within eleven readings of home. 
His catarrh still clings to him, yet he is better and will 
feel quite well if he can sleep, but with all his gifts he 
has no talent for sleeping. . . . Heard the ' Christmas 
Carol ' yesterday for the last time in Boston. 

'''April 7. Dickens was very ill yesterday. Unre- 
mitting exertion has preyed upon his strength ; he does 
not recover his vitality after reading. We beseech him 
not to continue. Copperfield was never more tragic than 
last night, but it was no longer ' vif .' I should hardly 
have known it for the same reading and reader. . . . 
All agree in finding the readings very exhausting. It 
is not only the excitement and consequent loss of sleep, 
but the exercise of close prolonged attention combined 
with anxiety for the reader himself. 

" Friday, April 10. Left home for New York with 
Dickens. . . . 

" April 11. Mr. Dickens looks into my room to say 
that as C, who was to dine with him, most fortunately 
has the gout ! and can't come, we will all go, 8 if I please,' 
to the circus to-night. . . . He looks in again shortly with 

a ' piece of dreadful news ' ; was to arrive shortly 

for a visit,— one of us alone ' could save him ! ' 

" The friends walked many miles together to-day. It 
was wet and uncomfortable at the last. They had been 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 159 

reading Governor Andrew's speech upon the Prohibi- 
tion Act and found it very moving. ' I could not put it 
down till I had finished it. That man must always hold 
a high position in your country,' said Dickens. 

" Wednesday, April 15. The anniversary of Abraham 
Lincoln's death, now three years ago. Monday night was 
Charles Dickens's first reading of his last course. The 
night was very stormy ; the audience large but unrespon- 
sive. We returned directly to the hotel; in a moment 
heard a tap at our room door. It was dear C. D. who 
begged us to come over for a bit of supper with him. 
He was wretchedly tired ; but after a few moments he 
seemed to recover and became the most exciting and 
amusing of hosts until after midnight. 

" Tuesday. Audience large but less demonstrative 
than yesterday. The reader came home very, very tired. 

"Wednesday. After dinner we went to the French 
theatre, walking both ways. The lights in the park and 
in Broadway, and the soft spring-like air, were delightful. 
The play was wretched, but Dickens's presence and con- 
versation were far more agreeable than any play could 
have been to us. 

" Tuesday. Last night came the final reading. The 
exertion is too great, and to-day he is utterly pros- 
trated. He went through with it bravely in spite of the 
pain in his foot. His desk was covered with flowers. 
After all was over when Mr. Fields went to speak with 
him, he shut in his hand as he took it a velvet box con- 
taining his favorite studs, then worn by him for the last 
time. ... 

r, April 22. My husband went to the 



160 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

steamer with Dickens to say farewell. He returns to 
his own home, and the splendor of England's summer. 
He leaves us the memory of our joy, and the knowl- 
edge that we can see him no more as we have done. 
Never again the old familiar intercourse, the care for 
him, nor can he ever feel again perhaps quite the same 
singleness of regard for us. 

"May 2. Our home life has lost nothing; indeed 
it has gained. Do we not see him here too, added 
to all other tender associations ! How delightfully the 
rain shuts us in. J. read me at breakfast a grand new 
poem by Lowell, it is called 4 June.' Last evening he 
took down Irving's works to try to find a description of 
a summer thunder-storm which Dickens said was one of 
the closest pictures he knew and the most vivid. 

" Failing to find that he read me the story of the 
4 Stout Gentleman,' the scene of which was laid on as 
wet a day as I ever experienced! Reading this re- 
called to his mind an incident told him by Leslie the 
painter, years ago, which, if it be not already in print, 
deserves a place. He said, Leslie was walking one af- 
ternoon with Washington Irving in England, when as 
they crossed a little churchyard they saw a most extra- 
ordinary stout gentleman just in front of them, who pre- 
sented such dorsal amplitudes and comical aspects that 
Irving was convulsed with laughter. Whereupon Leslie 
made a sketch of the same stout gentleman on the spot, 
and from this sketch, which served to keep his memory 
green, Irving afterwards worked up the little paper called 
by that name. . . . 

" E has just returned from New York. He 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 161 

looked in upon his publisher a moment saying, 4 How 
is the guardian and maintainer of us all ? ' 

" Sunday. To-day the quiet of home once more. 
J. is busy among his books. . . . Some one asked him 
yesterday for an antidote against sea-sickness, saying 
he had heard that brown paper worn on the chest was 
considered good. ' Yes,' was the reply, ' a lady in whom 
I have no confidence assured me that was the fact. You 
had better try it ! ' 

In September, 1867, was published " The Guar- 
dian Angel/' by Oliver Wendell Holmes, with the 
following dedication : — 

" To James T. Fields, a token of kind regard, from 
one of many writers, who have found him a wise, faith- 
ful, and generous friend." 

This tribute was one of the pleasant incidents 
which marked the closing months of the year. 

In the autumn of the same year, also, John 
G. Whittier's poem, entitled, " The Tent on the 
Beach," was published. Mr. Fields is introduced 
into this poem among a group of friends, as one 
of the actors upon a scene " made of such stuff " 
as dreams, and memories, and thoughts of sum- 
mer days long past. It is a genial and character- 
istic picture, and one many a reader will be inter- 
ested to recall. 

A publisher's experience is not altogether easy 
nor agreeable. Having to deal with the most sen- 
11 



162 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

sitive portion of the human race, authors, and 
persons of artistic temperament, unwonted to bus- 
iness and often untrained in character, misunder- 
standings arise, and worst of all, unfaith. 

" Unfaitli in aught is want of faith in all." 

Such tokens of confidence and sympathy, there- 
fore, are a positive encouragement and assistance, 
inspiring courage for days to come. 

"Plymouth, N. H., June, 1868. One of the love- 
liest villages in New England. There is a little black 
boy here full of impish ness who was in high excite- 
ment yesterday at the arrival of a traveling band. 
He was set in motion immediately, showing a real 
talent for dancing just as soon as the harp and violin 
began. The barber joined with his flute, having in- 
vited the company into his room. Country people soon 
collect at the sound of music, and the place was quickly 
filled. The boy, who was as heavy as a feather, danced 
away with one eye on the keeper of the house (fearing hi3 
disapproval of such gayety), and one on Mr. Fields to see 
if he appreciated the performance, with lapses of perfect 
obliviousness, when the love of the dance filled his whole 
little being, and he became forgetful of everything ex- 
cept the pleasure of rhythmic motion. By and by an 
old farmer of eighty years joined the group. He stood 
and watched attentively for a short time. Suddenly he 
said, ' I can't stand this,' and stripping off his coat joined 
the dance — doing the double shuffle with the vigor 
inspired by his memory of the flying blood of twenty 
years. . . . 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 163 

" July, 1868. Drove to Newcastle, the island at the 
mouth of Portsmouth harbor, where there is a fort, old 
now and disused, also a new one begun and left unfin- 
ished. A sea-mist and a gray sky prevented us from 
enjoying the colors of the ocean and the shore, so beau- 
tiful here on a clear summer afternoon, but the cool 
damp air was very grateful. ' J.' had not visited this 
place since a child. It seemed to him then the Ultima 
Thule, the distant fountain head of holiday delights. 
The same three bridges remained to be crossed to-day 
which he passed over then ; the little islets on either side 
were unchanged, and the looks of the people. He knew 
the name of the old toll-keeper and inquired for him, but 
the young girl who ran out to take the money only re- 
membered the name of such a person as having been 
toll-keeper there many years ago. 

" There are few places in America so primitive as 
Newcastle is now, the small neat cottages with sea-chest 
and pictures within, reminding one incessantly of Dick- 
ens's immortal Yarmouth. One old fat man was smok- 
ing his pipe in the decayed fort as we crossed the yard, 
but the sentry-box was empty, and the round tower 
or lookout was capped with green, recalling the famous 
old buildings of the same shape on the Appian Way 
without bringing disdain upon its own head. Visitors 
were evidently an unaccustomed sight. Even the min- 
ister, who was bidding ' good-day ' at a cottage-door as 
we came into view, ended his visit rather hurriedly as I 
alighted by the road-side, that he might plod leisurely 
onward, his books under his arm, and gain opportunity 
for an occasional furtive glance in our direction. As I 



1C4 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

have said, Mr. Fields had not seen the place since his 
childhood, and there was a pleasing connection in his 
mind between boyhood's holiday and the quaint town 
delightful to see. The houses were hardly changed at 
all. If our horse had not proved himself more compe- 
tent than ourselves to untie the clumsy fastening with 
which we bound him, we could easily have lost an hour 
around the old light-house. 

" Returning to Portsmouth the length of our journey 
was beguiled by his quaint fancies as to what the boys 
4 Shindy Cotton,' or ' Gundy Gott,' would think of this 
new school-house, or that widened street. Passing an 
old bridge he remembered to have been fishing there one 
day when the i boy's company ' (there was always a boys' 
company in Portsmouth) drew up by the side of the 
bridge, and saluted him and his companions. It appears 
he had been the captain of the company himself previ- 
ously, but graduated from that honor as he grew beyond 
a certain age. He christened it ' The Woodbury Whites.' 
Also he pointed out an old-fashioned house where three 
young ladies, the beauties of the town, then lived. As 
we droA x e through one of the pleasantest streets he would 
tell me without looking what the names were on the 
doors. Some of the large houses looked very comfort- 
able and lovely with their grand trees and gardens slop- 
ing to the water side. 

" As we drove home with the sea-mist in our faces, 
the road growing moist and cool as night approached, 
the place seemed as redolent of associations as it was of 
country odors. Passed the night at the Rockingham 
House, formerly the governor's mansion, and as yet very 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 165 

little changed. The rooms are still haunted by the 
stately figures which so few years ago walked up and 
down the halls. 

" Went to Kittery Fore-Side, and to see the residence 
of Sir William Pepperell. It is much disfigured, though 
still retaining the old hall and a cupboard of real beauty. 
An old woman opened the door; 4 1 've been a nappin,' 
she said, ' and I 'd no idee the door was locked.' When 
we involuntarily expressed pleasure at the fine old hall, 
she replied : ' Well ! I don't think you 'd like it if yer 
lived here ; it 's a dusty old place, and stands just as it 
did when the old gentleman was alive.' It was not dif- 
ficult to fancy vessels landing at the foot of the pleasant 
green slope, or to see gentlemen in small clothes, and 
ladies in hoops moving through the stately entrance. . . . 
On our way to the Pepperell mansion we passed an- 
other house of apparently equal antiquity. Nothing had 
been done for many years to preserve the place from 
decay, and even in the cheerful light of that exquisite 
afternoon it would be hard to find anything more dolor- 
ous than its aspect and suggestion. The windows were, 
many of them, broken, the roof of the barn had fallen 
in, one of the other out buildings had only one wooden 
wall still standing, which creaked in the breeze as it 
swayed towards its fall ; the luxuriant shrubbery, with 
the freshness of the season upon it, was the only thing 
that chimed with the living. As we came upon this 
spectral habitation J. recalled the strange history of the 
family to whom the place belonged. It looked utterly 
deserted now ; even the fence and the gate were in 
ruins, and a panel had fallen from the front door. We 



166 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

pushed the gate, but the hinges were rusted and would 
not allow us to go in. Finding an aperture in the broken 
fence, we clambered through. As we went toward the 
house a window opened, and a woman as gray as the 
moss on the surrounding trees looked out and asked 
what we wanted. She was bleared and wandering, and 
wretched, but her voice was neither rough nor untaught. 
The sight of such lonely misery was terrible. It was 
like holding parley with a ghost. . . . 

" How blue the water was, how beautiful the sails, 
how brilliantly the light-houses shone in the afternoon 
sun, — these things can never be told ! Nor the solitude 
of that life ! 

" October 29, 1868. The firm of Ticknor and Fields 
no longer exists. Fields, Osgood & Co. is the new 
name ; it sounds unfamiliar to the ear of the public, who 
for many years have seen the above imprint. 

"I find that Mr. Fields has edited several books of 
late for which he has seen a place. In 1861, ' Favorite 
Authors,' containing a portrait of Hawthorne ; in 1864, 
' Household Friends,' with a portrait of Tennyson ; in 
1866, ' Good Company,' with an engraving of Whittier. 
Also, he has printed privately a small volume of poems 
called, ' A Few Verses for a Few Friends,' inscribed to 
E. P. W. In response to this little book he received the 
following poem from John G. Whittier : — 

TO J. T. F. 

ON A BLANK LEAF OF " POEMS PEINTED, NOT PUBLISHED." 

Well thought ! who would not rather hear 
The songs to Love and Friendship sung 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 167 

Than those which move the stranger's tongue, 
And feed his unselected ear? 

Our social joys are more than fame; 
Life withers in the public look T) 
Why mount the pillory of a book, 
Or barter comfort for a name? 

We are but men ; no gods are we, 
To sit in mid-heaven, cold and bleak, 
Each separate, on his painful peak, 
Thin-cloaked in self-complacency! 

Let such as love the eagle's scream 
Divide with him his home of ice; 
For me shall gentler notes suffice, — 
The valley-song of bird and stream; 

The pastoral bleat, the drone of bees, 
The flail-beat chiming far away, 
The cattle-low, at shut of day, 
The voice of God in leaf and breeze! 

Then lend thy hand, my wiser friend, 

And help me to the vales below 

(In truth, I have not far to go), 

Where sweet with flowers the fields extend. 

The diary continues : — 

" November, 1868. Mr. Fields met Charles Sumner at 
dinner, and advanced the subject of copyright, saying he 
hoped that question would still be foremost in his mind 
as he prepared to take his place in the new government. 
' But do you know,' said Sumner, in his most serious 
way, i what a pecuniary loss it will be to your house to 



168 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

have this measure carried ? ' ' Yes,' was the repty, * but 
fiat justitia, ruat House of Fields, Osgood & Co.' Of 
course, a hearty laugh was the immediate response. . . . 

A gentleman called, who gave Mr. Fields a pleasant 
anecdote of Halleck. He and his wife chanced to be 
coming to Boston in the same car with Halleck the year 
before his death. He intended to stop at Stamford, 
which was then his home, but being in a conversational 
mood, to their surprise he did not move when they ar- 
rived at that station. ' Are you not to stop at Stamford 
to-day ? ' the lady asked. He looked up in amazement, 
saying, as he took his friend's hand, 4 The conversation 
of your wife has so interested and absorbed me that I 
have been, what never occurred before in the course of 
my long life, unconscious of the journey.' The good 
lady had scarcely opened her lips ; but what genius for 
listening! . . . 

" Dr. Brewer came to talk about birds. Always an 
interesting subject to Mr. Fields. First, he read a paper 
he had written for the ' Atlantic Monthly,' and between 
and after the reading gave us little glimpses of his ex- 
perience. Once he was in the woods of Nova Scotia 
studying the Hermit Thrush. He had just begun to 
suspect there were two varieties, and was eager in his 
pursuit of the study. He came upon a nest of the rarest 
variety in the thick woods, and rinding the old birds 
gone hastily took the nest and its contents, consisting of 
several eggs, away into the light of an open space not 
far off. Just as the eggs were blown, and the nest ar- 
ranged for transportation, the old birds returned. Their 
cry of lamentation was so touching that ' I would have 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 169 

put the eggs all back in a minute if I could,' he contin- 
ued. The sound was quite unlike the birds' ordinary- 
cry. 

" He spoke of the mocking-bird, and referred to Long- 
fellow's beautiful lines upon him in 'Evangeline.' He 
once owned a mocking-bird, one accounted of superior 
value not because of his song, but from his tender fa- 
miliarities. He lived chiefly out of the cage, which 
made him a cause of household anxiety, and in spite of 
all care finally drowned himself at the wash-stand in his 
master's room. In fly season he would perch on the fin- 
ger and be carried round the walls, darting at every fly 
as he went and devouring them with astonishing celerity. 
One day Dr. B.'s mother having made a fine batch of 
pies for Thanksgiving, — mince, apple, and squash, — 
and spread them out in 4 the spare room ' to cool, the bird 
selected one made of the minced meat, pulled the crust 
off, and began to enjoy himself. Being discovered at this 
crisis, the old lady put all the pies on a large tray and 
was about to shut them up, when, seeing her intention, 
and her hands being fully occupied in holding the sides 
of the tray, the bird flew down and pulled her cap off. 

" Speaking of the robin, he told us his daughter 
watched a pair on the piazza for twenty days, feeding 
their young with the larvae of insects every half hour 
until they were strong enough to fly. In this way the 
garden was preserved from innumerable enemies. His 
paper was an indirect plea for the introduction of the 
English house sparrow, of which so much has been said 
lately. 

"January, 1869. — William Lloyd Garrison came in. 



170 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

He had been sitting with Charles Sprague " comparing 
notes." Mr. Sprague told Mr. Garrison he could never 
forget three sights he had seen from the windows of the 
old Globe Bank in Wilson's Lane, where he was em- 
ployed for many years. One was seeing a man with a 
bald head (meaning Garrison) maltreated by an angry 
mob and borne along the street ; the second, the capture 
of Anthony Burns ; the third, the marching of the first 
colored regiment, under Colonel Shaw, on their way 
Southward. In return, Garrison was able to tell him of 
the delight he had in setting up in type a certain Shake- 
speare Ode." 

A letter from Mr. Garrison, written in 1866, 
may not be out of place here : — 

" Koxbury, March 26, 1866. 

" Dear Me. Fields, — I fear it may have seemed to 
you either a singular forgetfulness, or something of in- 
difference, on my part, that you have not received any 
definite answer from me in regard to your proposition, 
made some time ago, that I would write a history of the 
Anti-Slavery movement for publication by your firm. 
Be assured, however, that while that proposition was 
very gratifying to me, and while I have had it constantly 
in mind ever since it was made, I have deemed it worthy 
of the gravest consideration before committing myself 
pro or con. But I will not delay any longer. Let me 
state, with brevity and frankness, some of the difficulties 
in my way. 

" In the first place, I have been so closely connected 
with the movement, from its inception to its completion, 



AND PERSONAL. SKETCHES. 171 

— not with any design or expectation of my own, ah 
initio, for I never thought of rising to public conspicuity, 
but only of inducing such as had already won distinction 
to lead in the great undertaking — that to virtually ig- 
nore that connection, by the most incidental reference to 
myself, might seem to savor of affectation ; while on the 
other hand, it would be a delicate task to decide to what 
extent I might refer to my trials and labors without 
seeming egotism. Personally, I feel no interest in the 
matter, whether made visible or invisible in the pages of 
the contemplated history ; for as I espoused the cause of 
the crushed and fettered millions at the South without 
dreaming of notoriety or fame, so, now that their eman- 
cipation is achieved, I have no wish to take any other 
than the humblest position of all who have labored to 
the same glorious end, and feel willing to be wholly 
dropped out of sight. 

" My next difficulty (and it really looks very formida- 
ble) is the great condensing power, — equal to anything 
found in hydraulics or hydrostatics, — that will be requi- 
site to embody, in a popular shape, the various phases 
and ramifications of the mightiest and most protracted 
struggle in behalf of the rights of human nature that the 
world has ever seen. 

" How shall the ocean be put into a gallon measure ? 
And if only a gallon is furnished, what idea of the 
ocean is given ? To say nothing of preliminary chap- 
ters respecting the rise and progress of slavery and the 
slave-trade, particularly as relating to our colonial his- 
tory and to the pro-slavery concessions made in the 
formation of the Constitution of the United States, — 



172 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

there have been thirty-six years (from 1829 to 1865) 
of discussion and conflict, shaking Church and State to 
their foundations, and culminating in the dismember- 
ment of the republic pro tempore, but happily ending in 
a restored Union, the Anti-Slavery amendment of the 
Constitution, and the total abolition of slavery. An 
almost incredible number of books, pamphlets, tracts, 
periodicals, speeches, essays, reviews, narratives, reports, 
etc., etc., all directly bearing upon the subject, have been 
published during that long period, the careful examina- 
tion of which would prove a laborious task indeed. A 
faithful and reliable history, therefore, would require I 
know not how voluminous a work ; but I feel sure that 
the materials furnished by each decade would amply suf- 
fice for a duodecimo volume of four hundred pages. 
What size or shape would make the work the most sala- 
ble, and therefore best suit the market, you are far bet- 
ter able to judge than I am. 

" Another serious difficulty is to know how to ' keep 
the pot boiling' while devoting so much time to the 
preparation of such a work, with no adequate pecuniary 
resources of my own, and with no way of augmenting 
them, except by engaging in something that will secure 
me immediate and regular remuneration. For if I once 
began, I should wish to be unremitting in my labors to 
complete the history in the shortest time practicable. 

" In a day or two, I will see you, and learn what you 
may be able to suggest or propose concerning these diffi- 
culties. 

« Very truly yours, 

" Wm. Lloyd Garrison. 

"James T. Fields, Esq." 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 173 

"March 15. — Mr. Fields had an unusually turbulent 
and exciting day. A constant series of interviews with 
every variety of person. One of his most absorbing 
calls was from a young man who has lately abandoned 
the Shakers. For three years he has been trying to get 
away and has only just now succeeded. He is a man of 
marked intellect. At the age of sixteen (he is now a 
little over twenty) he was placed at the head of their 
school in Canterbury as chief instructor. 

" He awakes at night, he says, in paroxysms of horror 
at the memory of the terrible life and terrible deeds he 
has seen performed among this people. He came to 
them when he was two years old, his father being a re- 
ligious fanatic, and wishing his wife and two children to 
go with him. They did so, but are now all free. He 
left the Shakers with ten dollars in his pocket to face the 
world. His friends are all among them and he is per- 
fectly ignorant of the ways of the world. In two or 
three cases he has known of young girls becoming un- 
happy and leaving the Shakers only to fall into wretch- 
edness and misery. He says he has been slain intellectu- 
ally and morally. When he remembers the confessional 
(for they have it also as in the Catholic churches), and 
the foolish things he has been led to recount as sins to 
the elders, he can hardly contain his indignation." 

" London, Tuesday, May 11, 1869. Dickens has 
been to see us four times to-day, beside a long walk with 
Mr. Fields along the new Thames embankment. . . . 

" Wednesday. Dined with Dickens. Arranged to go 
to the little hospital at Stepney. ' A small star in the 
east.' 



174 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" Friday ', he came at half-past ten A. M. to go to the 
hospital, bringing with him some small alleviations for 
colds, with recipes. Started promptly, and by aid of 
omnibus, cars, and a short walk, arrived before noon at 
our destination. Dickens was perfectly at home in this 
part of London. He was full of interest also in the 
young physician and his wife at the hospital, who looked 
upon him as one of their best friends. It was evidently 
always their gala day when he arrived. He could not 
say enough to express his admiration for the simple, 
reverent earnestness of their lives, ' How they bear it,' 
he said, 'I cannot imagine. I wish you could have 
seen,' he continued, 'the little child I wrote of, who 
died afterward, so exquisite in beauty and so patient, its 
rounded cheek so pale. Certainly there is nothing more 
touching than the suffering of a child, nothing more 
overwhelming.' The doctor carried us, before our return, 
into one of the poor-houses in the neighborhood. A 
mother, father, and seven children in one room ! And 
yet, he said, this was not an extreme case. . . . 

" Isle of Wight, June. Walked to Mrs. Cameron's 
quiet cottage near the sea. She was expecting us, having 

expressed a wish to photograph M and J. She drew 

the latter into a darkened room, rearranging his dress to 
suit her artistic ends, and began her work. It was not the 
labor of a moment, but the result was most satisfactory. 
She said, characteristically, of the persons whom she in- 
vited to sit, that she only ' took the young, the fair, and 
the famous.' Her eye was quick as an eagle's to detect 
the qualities she wished to convey into her pictures ; and 
her vision was as individual as it was keen. Her appre- 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 175 

ciation of her friends, her enthusiasm for them, was un- 
bounded. Writing to Mr. Fields after we left, she says : 
4 Mr. and Mrs. Tennyson have spoken with pleasure of 
your visit, and I can entirely understand the eternal de- 
light it is to you to have dwelt with them in their dear 
home. . . . Only in this way can one fully estimate 
either his or her most beautiful and endearing qualities. 
His immortal powers, of course, are conveyed in his 
books, but very few come to a perfect and real apprecia- 
tion of him who have not seen him in the intimacy of 
private life. . . . You will see how perfect and valuable 
these impressions are (of photographs which she pre- 
sented with this note), and I delight in making a gift 
of them to those who I know to be so worthy of the 
gift as you are. . . . 

" Gad's Hill Place, June. Mr. Fields has himself 
recorded, in ' Yesterdays with Authors,' whatever he con- 
sidered interesting to the reader connected with this 
visit. 

" Ambleside. Mr. Fields enjoyed a few hours with 
Harriet Martineau, who had just received a letter, full of 
good cheer about India, from Florence Nightingale. She 
was eager to talk of her i Autobiography,' trying to ar- 
range everything in view of her death, although she was 
constantly seeing friends pass before her into the Unseen. 
She was full of interest in public affairs, and talked un- 
ceasingly. 

" Miss Martineau's letters, as the world knows, are 
replete with valuable suggestion and characterized by 
clear, individual expression. In view, however, of the 
careful selection already made by herself and her 



176 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

friends, it is thought wise to include nothing further 
here. 

"After leaving Miss Martineau, we drove over Kirk- 
stone Pass, and walking a short distance from the hotel, 
which is said to be built at the highest elevation of any 
house in England, looked down into the Vale of Patter- 
dale. A more lonely spot could not be imagined than it 
looked that summer afternoon, from the height of Kirk- 
stone. 

" At Furness Abbey we found a dwarf of the smallest 
possible dimensions, hardly taller than the tall grass 
among the stones. In spite of the solitude in which we 
found him, he seemed to possess an equal love for ruins 
and conversation. His hair and cap appeared to be of 
exactly the same fibre and color, looking as if black grass 
had grown up tall through a barred helmet. When he 
pushed back the cap in his excitement to show us * how 
he did it,' that is, how he went in among the lions and 
bears, and pretended to be eaten, it was a sight worth 
going far to behold. He wanted a dummy to play the 
part of a bear, and looked wistfully at J., but suddenly 
gave him up, in his own mind, as inappropriate. 

" At Lowwood, where the perfect stillness allowed 
every sound to be heard across the water, Mr. Fields 
amused me by relating one of his escapades. He was 
standing on the edge of the lake in a curve of the road, 
with a portfolio of photographs under his arm, which he 
was bringing to show me, when an old gentleman with 
his two nieces approached. They had not the least idea 
they could be heard. i I lay ye half a crown,' said the 
old gentleman, ' that he 's not an artist.' ' I '11 take you 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 177 

up, uncle,' said the prettiest of the girls. ' What makes 
you think so,' rejoined the uncle. 4 Because of the stoop 
in his shoulders,' said the girl, ' and when I come up with 
him I '11 ask him.' ' I '11 lay ye ninepence ye wont do 
that,' said he. ' But I will,' said she, « if you say I may.' 
True enough, when the party approached, the blushing 
young girl stepped up to him and said, c Excuse me, sir, 
my uncle and I have made a little bet as to your pro- 
fession, if you don't mind telling us. I shall be glad if 
you decide in my favor. Are you an artist ? ' 4 1 shall 
be most happy to decide in your favor,' he replied, and 
with a low bow, in perfect sobriety, departed, leaving 
the shrewd old man, who evidently hated to part with his 
sixpences, counting them out in the road to the satisfac- 
tion of his niece. 

" He heard a bell tolling in the tower of the little 
church near by, and seeing two old men sitting on a 
gravestone, said to one of them, 'What is this bell tolling 
for ? ' * Please, sir, 't is one of our hold friends, sir, who 
be just gone to his long 'ome, sir, and we wos just awaitin' 
'ere, sir, till his body do be brought along.' This form 
of speech is common here. 

" The old gardener at Dunster said, speaking of Mine- 
head church, which we could barely see on the distant 
hills, and the Luttrell possessions : i They do hown, sir, 
about as far as you can see, sir, from Minehead church, 
sir, as far as we? Again of the ivy : ' He 's a fine 
plant, sir, he's a werry old plant, sir.' 

" July 4. Stratford-on-Avon, with those loyal friends 
to America and Americans, Mr. and Mrs. Flower. . . . 
Thence to Malvern. Climbed the Malvern Hills on don- 
12 



178 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

keys. Found an old woman on one of the summits sell- 
ing gingerbread and beer. It was blowing hard with a 
thick fog. Mr. Fields inquired of her respecting the 
weather : ' Well, sir,' she said, ; I *ve 'ad the plumbago 
now for two days, sir, wich is as good as a halmanac, sir, 
honly not so conwenient.' 

" Came to Clevedon, sacred to the memory of Arthur 
Hallam. High, overlooking the river Severn. We lin- 
gered there ; the place possesses a deep interest for all 
lovers of Tennyeon and the Hallams. Came to Devon- 
shire. Found an old-fashioned garden behind the inn at 
Tiverton quite at our service. . . . We begin to find 
quaint names — Innocent Witherstone, Ezekiel Hear, 
Elizabeth Bobby, Selina Skipwith — good for a novel. 

u Dunster. Wonderful old place. Again we could 
fancy traces of Tennyson's observation and description. 
Hotel, formerly an abbey, with ancient garden behind. 
Terrace overlooking the sea. At the castle an old gar- 
dener, proud of the family and his position, which he has 
held for sixty years. A sleeping palace — beautiful in 
decay. Came into the village at dusk ; saw remains of 
all kinds of birds and animals, inimical to the farmers' 
good, nailed up outside the door of an old stone barn ; a 
singer in the streets, dancing as he sang, and shouting to 
the children, ' get off the carpet, get off the forum ; ' the 
old church doors open, the choir preparing for Sunday 
service ; fresh girlish voices. 

" Sunday, at Lynton. A little garden outside our win- 
dow bounded by a hedge, thence a steep descent to the 
sea, with pines, chestnuts, and beeches covering the slope 
to the shingly shore below; the sound of the water is 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 179 

heard perpetually. In the distance the beach curves as 
at Baise, giving a perfect view of the strand and cliffs 
sloping in enormous waves of red and green declivity to 
the opal sea. Drove from Lynton over bits of moor, be- 
tween high hedges, with the purple heather coming out 
in fringes along the way ; rounding headlands with the 
sea constantly in view. On to Ilfracombe, where the 
chief delight was to lie on rocks and fancy ourselves at 
home. . . . 

" Switzerland, August. Talking of the Grimsel in 
bad weather, Mr. Fields said : ' He hated to be dragged 
up where the Devil carried the best man that ever lived.' 
We did not go over the Grimsel ! . . . 

" Boston, U. S. A., November, 1869. We light the 
first fire on our library hearth, and somehow feel a little 
solemnity about it, as if it were for a high festival. Our 
boxes have all arrived at length from England. The 
original portrait of Pope, painted by Richardson, master 
of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and purchased by Mr. Fields 
while in London from the gallery of the Marquis of Has- 
tings, is hung up." 

In the autumn of this year James Russell Lowell 
printed his poem, " The Cathedral," with the fol- 
lowing dedication : — 

"TO ME. JAMES T. FIELDS. 

"My dear Fields, — Dr. Johnson's sturdy self-re- 
spect led him to invent the Bookseller as a substitute for 
the Patron. My relations with you have enabled me 
to discover how pleasantly the Friend may replace the 
Bookseller. Let me record my sense of many thoughtful 



180 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

services by associating your name with a poem which 
owes its appearance in this shape to your partiality. 

" Cordially yours, 

"J. R. Lowell. 

" Cambridge, November 29, 1869." 

In the winter of 1870 Mr. Fields's health began 
to give way. The voyages, the excitement of 
travel, and his return to business responsibilities, 
proved too much even for his excellent constitu- 
tion. His sleep was broken and his spirits suf- 
fered. He who had been the life of every feast 
was often silent and fatigued. His strength seemed 
to fade away from him, and after any little ex- 
ertion or excitement he would fall asleep from 
utter exhaustion. That winter was like a valley of 
shadows which led us in June to Dickens's grave. 

The summer was *a very warm one, and Mr. 
Fields continued to go to town from Manchester- 
by-the-Sea daily, with few exceptions. There was 
cause for anxiety about his health. He seemed 
tired, as Mrs. Hawthorne once said of herself, 
"far into the future." Nevertheless those days 
by the shore were restoring in their influence, 
and the autumn found him better and slow to 
leave. 

44 Who knows if we shall ever see that glorious sight 
again together ! The waves were very high, a gorgeous 
sunset sent its late yellow shafts out over the gray sea, 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 181 

the foam broke on the distant rocks like a sudden burst 
of soft white blooms, it was all vast, glorious, indescrib- 
able. We sat on the sandhills, overlooking the beach 
and the wide scene for an hour. It never appeared to 
us more lovely. Coming back we scrambled over Thun- 
derbolt Hill, and saw the sunset among the red sumach 
and ripening apples. 

" Tuesday, November 1, 1870. We begin this month 
with different feelings from any I could have anticipated. 
. . . The weight of this great business house is no longer 
to rest where it has done. It is a cloud behind us, Mr. 
Fields is like a different man already. . . . 

" January, 1871. A visit from William Hunt. One 
of the most dramatic creatures who ever lived. He told 
a story of a student from the South who came to Har- 
vard University with a colored servant. Returning to 
his rooms one night (or day) at four o'clock in the 
morning, he found a company of negroes leaning back in 
his chairs, smoking his cigars and drinking his sherry. 
With a grace Hunt could not sufficiently admire, the 
young man walked through the rooms as if he did not 
see its occupants, whereat they all crumbled away, no- 
body knew where, only his own man remained, who, as 
quick as thought, gathered the bottles under his coat, and 
when his master did look round was furiously dusting 
the room with a feather duster. Hunt's mimicry of the 
whole scene was inimitable. 

" His delight, too, over the Cameron photographs ! 
4 Go 'way,' he said, getting into a corner with one of 
them, as if it were a piece of cake, and he four years 
old. ' I don't want anybody to see it till I 've done with 



182 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

it.' I held a second one for his inspection. ' No, no,' 

he said, ' he may have that, (pointing to T ), and 

I '11 keep this ! ' It was so absurdly like a child, and yet 
done with such real feeling that it was very comic. 

" He loves to tell stories of animals, especially one of 
going to a place in Paris, where the man had only a 
monkey and an elephant to exhibit. He was determined, 
therefore, to make the most of the show. He arrayed 
the elephant, (who just fitted in to the apartment with 
no room at all left over,) with a napkin about him, as if 
he were dining ; and the monkey, dressed as a garcon de 
cafe, came dancing in with the plates one after another. 
He would enter with long strides, flinging down the tin 
plate before the elephant with perfect nonchalance, so 
long as it contained salads and the like; but when it 
came to the nuts and raisins, his dance was altogether 
vertical, he being occupied with gobbling up the contents 
on the way. Finally, on arriving at the elephant, he 
would fling the empty plate before him with a grand air. 
In Hunt's hands this became a little drama, in which he 
played all the parts with infinite amusement. 

" He caught himself, as he said, the other night, daring 
to look at a little charcoal drawing of his own, hanging 
on the wall behind him in our room. ' That heather,' he 
said, ' with the starry blooms ! the paper is left, there 
is no white laid on; there never could be any white 
put on to shine like that ! I wonder who the f ellar was 
who did it ! It was done with a great piece of charcoal 
which just left the spots clear. Ha ! I 'd like to see the 
man who could do that again ! I could n't ! By George ! 
I tell you what, look at that little bit (drawing his finger 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 183 

round and round the heather-top), the fellar must have 
known he had done a good thing by the time that was 
finished.' . . . 

Last night Hunt came. He 4 played ' he was a mani- 
kin, — figure of Napoleon at St. Helena, also Mrs. Smith; 
nothing could be more laughable. He sang, too, with 
much feeling, always protesting he had forgotten both 
words and tune. 

44 Tried to read aloud, which he said he never could do. 
He so bewitched the meaning that we were overwhelmed 
with laughter. As for E — , Mr. Fields said he laughed 
until 4 his eyes left their wonted sockets, and went to 
laugh far back in his brain.' 

44 Putting down the book Hunt launched into a sea of 
talk upon his own life as a painter ; of his lonely posi- 
tion here without any one to look up to in his art ; his 
idea being misunderstood; of his determination not to 
paint cloth and cheeks, but the glory of age and the 
light of truth. He became almost too excited to find 
words ; but when he did grasp a phrase it was with a 
power that sent his meaning, barbed with feeling, home. 
4 If the books you wrote were left dusty and untouched 
upon the shelves, don't you think you 'd try to write so 
that people should want them ? I am sure you would.' 

44 Boston, May 12, 1871. Third meeting of officers of 
the Army of the Potomac. [Bret Harte was expected 
to read the poem. On the previous evening he wrote 
to say he could not come in person, but would send his 
verses. It was an important occasion. Generals Sheri- 
dan, Meade, Hooker, and many others, were present, who 
had won the right to be forever loved and remembered 



184 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

by the people. A committee waited upon Mr. Fields to 
ask him to read the verses. Bret Harte was then at the 
height of his popularity ; public curiosity was alive to 
see him, and a feeling of disappointment must greet any 
one who should stand in his place ; beside, the verses did 
not arrive. It was an unwelcome duty at the best, but 
accepting it as the least he could do for the men who had 
fought as these had done, Mr. Fields wrote a few verses 
himself which might introduce the others in case they 
arrived, or preface some apology, telegraphed to Harte, 
and one hour before the ceremonies opened at the Globe 
Theatre, received his manuscript from New York. In 
that short time it was studied, read and re-read, and pre- 
pared for public presentation.] 

" Catskill, June. Our boy-driver had never read 
Irving's story, but had often heard of Rip Van Winkle. 
4 Who wrote the story, do you know? ' asked Mr. Fields. 
1 Washington, did n't he ? ' was the reply. He said his 
father came ' from those parts,' and had told him the 
story over and over until he was curious to come and see 
the place. It was ' all flat ' at the West, where he passed 
his boyhood, 4 and the fust time I saw this, I tell you ! 
I never thought there could be such a place. Well ! I 
just come to see it, and I 've stayed here ever since, nigh 
on three year.' The place where Rip had his long sleep, 
and where a small wayside inn now stands, overlooks a 
wonderful valley through a natural gorge. The sunset 
light made everything radiant as we ascended. Coming 
to the summit with hands full of laurel blooms, we went 
out upon the magnificent plateau, and hardly left it again 
until we were obliged to come away altogether. In the 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 185 

moonlight we heard the tree-toads calling, and every- 
thing else that lives and stirs in the woods in the deep- 
ening hours. The sky was 4 living sapphire ' where the 
sun had left it long before, the stars and planets were 
appearing in the east, the trees stood as if cut upon the 
steeps of heaven, and the whole scene w^as solemn with 
night and loveliness. . . . 

" Some one was speaking of the dishonest manage- 
ment of the Erie Railroad. Mr. Fields said, « The Bible 
says : Buy the Truth and sell it not ; the Erie men say, 
Buy the Truth and sell it out for a profit.' 

"November 6, 1871. Mr. Fields 'lectured' in Boston. 

" December. Continues to lecture ; making additions 
and changes continually in his essays. . . . Went to hear 
Horace Greeley ' On Wit.' It was a singular agglomera- 
tion of matter. Old Miller jokes, combined with quo- 
tations from the dramatists. Strange enough in manner 
also. His sole gesture being to paddle the fingers of one 
hand as if he were thrumming a piano. He was dab- 
bling his finger-tips in water he had spilled from the 
tumbler upon the table in order to turn the leaves more 
easily. It was a bad night, and the audience was small, 
but Greeley was content with his one friendly listener. 
4 Good, ain't it ? ' he said, after it was over. 

" January, 1872. Mr. Fields is continually lecturing 
and overflowing with singular ' experiences.' He is writ- 
ing a paper upon ' Tennyson ' (this was the first sketch 
of the future lecture), to read before a small private 
company next week. 

" January 25. Lectured at L . Crowded house ; 

pretty town ; the moon was up, but it was very cold ; 



186 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

walked out on the snow between moon-set and sunrise ; 
returned to breakfast at home in Boston. Described the 

good man who kept the hotel in L . 4 Now,' said he, 

'after the lecter to-night, I shall give ye, — oysters, — 
hot.' Returning, there was some delay about the oys- 
ters. Presently the landlord appeared, bringing them 
himself. i Military ball here last night, — cook as mad 
as thunder, — but here are yer oysters ! ' putting them 
down triumphantly. When they were fairly on the table 
he turned to Mr. Fields : < I was in to-night.' ' Yes,' 
said Mr. Fields, ' I saw you.' ' Did ! ' (with faint in- 
tonation of surprise). * Well, Mr. Foster and I was 
a-talkin' of it comin' out, and sayin' we thought 'twas 
abaout as good a lecter as we 'd ever hed here.' " 

Mr. Fields was subject at this time to severe 
colds, which attacked the lungs, and occasionally 
prevented him from fulfilling his engagements ; to 
be stopped coming out of a lecture room to hear 
" a good story," which somebody had been saving 
till that unfortunate moment, or to be detained 
on a windy corner, were sure to bring him more 
or less discomfort. 

" May, Revolving plans for a course of free lectures 
for women upon English literature, to be given during 
the autumn ; something to bring the audience of women 
together who are longing for a better education ; to be 
able to look it over and understand the need." 

As a result of Mr. Fields's labors in behalf of a 
larger opportunity for women desiring an educa- 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 187 

tion, the following article from his hand soon ap- 
peared in the newspapers of the day, shortly fol- 
lowed by the advertisement appended. These 
serve to show how generously his friends re- 
sponded to his appeal for their assistance in his 
plans : — 

" Good News for Women. — During the months of 
October, November, and December of this year, on Sat- 
urday afternoons, at three o'clock, in the large hall of 
the Technological Institute, there will be given a free 
course of twelve lectures to women on subjects connected 
with English literature. These lectures are not to be 
reported in the papers, or printed in book-form. The 
following eloquent lecturers are already engaged for each 
Saturday in the above months, beginning October 5 : 
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Phillips Brooks, Oliver Wendell 
Holmes, Edwin P. Whipple, Wendell Phillips, George 
S. Hillard, James Freeman Clarke, William R. Alger, 
John Weiss, George William Curtis. 

" It is the design, we presume, of this course of free 
lectures to introduce a scheme of instruction for women 
which shall give to them the advantages so long afforded 
to students in universities. It is the beginning of a plan 
which will be hailed with delight wherever the full and 
proper education of women has been discussed. This 
course will no doubt be followed by others in the sciences, 
etc., and Boston will have the credit of starting a plan 
which is sure to end in university education for women 
in various parts of the country. 

" We understand there are to be no tickets of admis- 



188 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

sion issued, but that all women (and only women are to 
be admitted to the hall, as there will be no room for 
others) who wish to avail themselves of such a course in 
English literature will go early enough to take their 
places. The hall will seat between eight and nine hun- 
dred only, and is to be opened at two o'clock and closed 
promptly at three, to avoid any interruption after the 
lecture of the day has commenced. School teachers es- 
pecially are to be benefited by this course, and if the 
hall were double its size it would not be large enough 
to accommodate all the women who will wish to be 
present. 

" The idea of this provision for the instruction of 
women is a noble one, and is another evidence that the 
world moves." 

Later the following advertisement appeared : — 

" A free course of twelve lectures to women on sub- 
jects connected with English literature, will be given in 
the large hall of the Technological Institute, during the 
months of October, November, and December, 1872. 

" To commence on Saturday afternoon, October 5, at 
3 o'clock, and to be continued every Saturday afternoon 
following, at the same hour, until the series is ended in 
December. 
" The lecturers for October are Mrs. E. D. Cheney, 

Edwin P. Whipple, John Weiss, Oliver Wendell 

Holmes. 
" The lecturers for November are George S. Hillard, 

Phillips Brooks, Wendell Phillips, Robert Collyer, 

William R. Alger. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 189 

"The lecturers for December are Ralph Waldo Emer- 
son, James Freeman Clarke, George William Curtis. 
" The hall will be opened at 1\ o'clock each Saturday, 
and closed precisely at 3. Seats are provided for nine 
hundred ladies, who will be admitted without tickets." 

Perhaps there can be found no more suitable 
point in this " story of a life," than the one we 
have now reached, to incorporate a beautiful trib- 
ute to Mr. Fields received from Mrs. Mary A. 
Livermore, and written during a rapid tour in 
Europe in the summer of 1881. This journey, 
prescribed to Mrs. Livermore by her physician 
after a season of unusual fatigue, was to be a 
period of rest ; therefore surprise and gratitude 
were both aroused by the reception of this letter 
from her in the early summer. Mrs. Livermore 
writes : — 

"London, England, June 15, 1881. 
" I shall never forget the first time I met Mr. Fields. 
It was during the war, and when I was living in Chicago. 
The great need of funds to carry on the work of the 
Sanitary Commission had driven the women of the north- 
west to the last resort — a grand fair. It was the first 
of the series of great fairs which yielded immense sums 
of money to the Sanitary Commission, and, unlike those 
which followed it, it was projected and carried on almost 
entirely by women. All available women were harnessed 
into the various departments of the fair ; and the com- 
mittee having in charge the publication of the daily fair 
paper, desiring that its brief life of three weeks should 



190 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

be a brilliant one, I was despatched to Boston for assist- 
ance. 

" I was instructed to secure, if possible, the services of 
a lady, then ' a bright particular star ' in the literary 
world. I only knew that Mr. Fields was the lady's pub- 
lisher, and so, without letters of introduction, and unac- 
companied, I sought him at his office, and introduced 
myself and my errand. Fully aware that my errand 
might seem quixotic or infinitesimal to the great pub- 
lisher, I was prepared for a cool reception. 

" I shall always remember the great courtesy and 
kindness with which Mr. Fields received me. I was at 
ease directly. He listened with interest to my story, 
kindled with enthusiasm as I told him of the prepara- 
tions for the fair, all eminently western, of the patriotic 
audacity of the women of the northwest, who proposed 
to raise $100,000 for their sick and wounded 'boys in 
blue,' and immediately put himself at our service, and 
sought to make my errand successful. 

" I failed of accomplishing what I sought, but it was 
not through any indifference or lack of effort on the part 
of Mr. Fields. Seemingly intent on aiding us, he dis- 
cussed with me the details of the paper, was fertile in 
suggestions and hints by which we profited, and prom- 
ised to solicit contributions from eminent people with 
whom he had relations, — a promise that he kept. 

" As I rose to leave, he made inquiries concerning my 
experiences in hospitals, on transports, and among our 
sick and wounded soldiers. His face glowed, his eye 
moistened, as I spoke of the marvelous heroism, the in- 
describable patience, and the sublime resignation of men, 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 191 

young, with families that needed them, to whom life was 
full of promise, — and yet bravely suffering, and calmly 
dying that the nation might live. 

" ' This,' said he, ' is the side of the war that the peo- 
ple can never learn from the reports of officers, or the 
letters of war correspondents. When the war is over 
you must give us a book of your experiences, must show 
us the heavenly side of the war, and I will help you get 
before the world with it.' 

" My interest in Mr. Fields dates from that day. I 
never afterwards heard his name spoken, or saw it men- 
tioned in the papers, without recalling his courtesy and 
kindness, and thinking of him as a man to whom a woman 
might go for advice and assistance. 

" Years after, when I had returned to New England 
to reside, I remember how all who believed in the enfran- 
chisement of women were thrilled with his speech, made, 
I believe, in Portsmouth, N. H. In strong and grand 
words he expressed his sympathy with the struggling 
reform, not as hopeful in its promise as now, pronouncing 
it founded on eternal justice, and predicting its ultimate 
success at no very remote day. Glad and grateful, I 
hastened to write him a note of thanks, and to tell him 
of the good cheer his words had given us. His reply 
was even stronger and more earnest than his public ad- 
dress ; and the brief note soon found its way into one of 
the autograph albums, arranged and sold in aid of a 
public charity. 

" Once more Mr. Fields increased woman's indebted- 
ness to him by organizing and successfully carrying out 
a free course of twelve lectures for women on English 



192- BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

literature. So excellent were they, and so highly prized, 
that hardly was the large hall sufficient for the accom- 
modation of those who sought to attend them. We had 
all come to recognize in Mr. Fields a friend of woman, 
who desired for her equal educational and legal advan- 
tages with man. 

"If he arranged for women a course of literary lec- 
tures, his programme included women lecturers as well 
as men. If, at his charming summer retreat by the sea, 
he provided a series of Sunday discourses for his towns- 
people, he invited women to the pulpit, which he tempo- 
rarily controlled, and gave them the same hearty welcome 
he accorded to clergymen. 

" Was a woman in doubt concerning the worth of her 
untried lecture or undelivered essay ? he placed his time, 
talent, and experience at her service, criticising so kindly 
as to win her gratitude, even when the criticism was 
severe. Ay, and when sometimes an unasked loan of 
money was needed, because of the poverty of the would- 
be debutante, it was voluntarily tendered ; — and I have 
heard Mr. Fields declare that rarely were such debts un- 
paid. 

" In conservative and cultivated circles, where his in- 
terest in woman's advancement was not known, in the 
far West, where his advocacy of woman suffrage had 
never been advertised, he was as generous in his recog- 
nition, and as just in his demands for woman, as in the 
society where this had come to be expected of him. 

" He never passed me on the street so hurriedly that 
he had not time for a word of cheer or encouragement, 
or an inquiry into the progress of a reform, in which he 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 193 

believed as strongly as myself. It is not yet possible for 
me to realize that all this is over, that these kindnesses 
are ended, that his work is finished. For he was so full 
of life and heartiness, that it is impossible to think of 
him as having passed into the land of silence. 

" During my brief stay in England I am continually 
reminded of Mr. Fields. For he brought us into such 
acquaintanceship with the English ' Authors of Yester- 
day,' that, as I come upon reminders of Dickens, Thack- 
eray, Wordsworth, De Quincey, and other masters of 
literature, - — sometimes in galleries of pictures, sometimes 
in abbeys, cathedrals, and churchyards, — their historian 
and interpreter immediately rises to my memory, who 
has now, like them, solved the eternal secret, and divined 
the great mystery of death. 

" I cannot think of him as dead, — nor will I. For as 
he passed through the low gateway that opens outward, 
and never inward, who can doubt that he entered ' an- 
other chamber of the King's, larger than this, and love- 
lier ? ' Yours very sincerely, 

" Mary A. Livermore." 

Again I return to the everyday incidents of the 
diary : — 

" A young gentleman at dinner yesterday gave me the 
following anecdote of Dickens. He went one day to 
hear him read, and was invited afterward by a friend to 
be presented to Dickens. C. D. (this was most charac- 
teristic) unnecessarily asked him what he, the young 
listener, thought of his reading ! ' Since you ask me,' 
he replied, ' I think the only criticism I could make upon 
13 



194 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

anything which has given me so much pleasure would be 
to say, quite frankly, that I think it somewhat too dra- 
matic ! ! ' Whereat Mr. Dickens bowed, thanked him for 
his opinion, and the scene terminated. Years after, this 
gentleman was himself reading from Tennyson's poems 
to an audience at the Isle of Wight. After it was over, 
Mr. Dickens came to speak to him from among the au- 
dience. Mr. expressed himself greatly honored, 

and said he was glad to have been unconscious of his 
distinguished auditor. ' But what, sir, do you say of 
my reading ? ' ' Since you ask me,' said Dickens, bow- 
ing, with a laugh running all over his face. ' I must 
tell you that I do not find it quite dramatic enough ! ' 

" Manchester-by-the-Sea. August, 1872. The 
fog-bell tolls all day and all night. It is very silent here, 
yet nature is melodious, the airs are soft, the odors ex- 
quisite. 

" Last night Mr. Fields read aloud a manuscript poem 
called ' The Children of Lebanon,' with great pride and 
feeling, as a surprise to our little circle. 

" The fog-bell continues tolling. ' Are we not to have 
some rain,' he said, to an old farmer here. * I guess we 
be,' was the reply. 'I see them 'ere thunder-pillars 
leanin' up agin' the Northwest ! ' The sea still groans. 
Mr. Fields fell into talk yesterday about his boyhood. 
The best of Scott's novels were not in his boy's library ! 
Whatever there was he learned to know thoroughly. 
4 Thaddeus of Warsaw,' of course, was a prime favorite. 
There was a poem called ' King Alfred,' which obtained 
a horrible reality in his eyes. He heard his two old 
uncles talking it over one day, when he was a child of 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 195 

six or eight years old. ' How they bent the old man,' 
he heard them say. 

" Chicago, October, 1872. Most hospitably received 
and entertained. Beautiful autumnal weather ; leaves 
aglow in the park (chiefly oaks) ; the great lake Michi- 
gan quiet and blue. Went early to see the burnt dis- 
trict. Long rows of new stone fronts rise loftily where 
one year ago all was dust and ashes ; but the trees stand- 
ing with naked arms stretching to the sky, give pa- 
thetic evidence of what has been. The fine stone and 
iron walls, too, cracked and ruined, show where grand 
residences, surrounded by gardens, once stood. Every- 
body thinks everybody else 'much changed." The peo- 
ple begin to meet socially now, almost for the first time 

since the public calamity. tells me she has never 

been to see the ruins of her home, although living in 
close proximity. It is hard to find people. Our first 
desire was to discover Kobert Collyer; but although 
Unity Church was rising from its ashes, there was no 
clue by which we could immediately find its pastor. 

" Lecture in the evening. c Masters of the Situation.' 
Large audience, and very enthusiastic. . . . Went to 
Davenport to lecture. Rode nine hours in the cars, and 
spoke that same evening ; took the train again after the 
lecture and returned to Chicago before the world was 
fairly astir. Noble audience at Davenport ; first glimpse 
of Mississippi River. . . . Surprised to find many 
Greeley men hereabout. The farmers believe in Gree- 
ley ; they like his sympathy with them, and his endeav- 
ors for settling the new country. 

" Boston, November. Mr. Fields is at work on his 



196 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

' Tennyson ' lecture, which he gives again to-morro"w 
night. . . . 

" November 9. The most fearful fire New England has 
ever known is raging in Boston. 

" November 21. Mr. Fields gave c The Masters of the 
Situation,' before the Young Men's Union. The subject 
seems doubled in significance since our disaster, hundreds 
of young men and women being thrown out of employ- 
ment for the winter. Everybody's time is more or less 
devoted to trying to bridge over this ugly chasm. . . . 
Our home never looked so beautiful, nor seemed so refresh- 
ing ! . . . I look with great satisfaction at the long row of 
good books Mr. Fields brought into the American world 
while he was still a member of the publishing house. . . . 
Our great treat this week has been reading the second 
volume of Forster's ' Life of Dickens,' which was for- 
warded in sheets. We hardly breathed till we had read 
every word. . . . Such unending power of work, such 
universal care for others, such intense absorption in 
whatever was before him, has never been portrayed be- 
fore. . . . The fun and pathos of the book brings his 
dear presence back to us again with intense vividness. 
Mr. Fields wrote at once to Forster. . . . 

"Hunt's studio having burned, — utterly burned to 
nothing, — he has bravely taken a new one, and is at 
work, though his whole youth, he says, seems to have 
gone up in the flames. 

" April, 1873. Mr. Fields at home writing away upon 
his Charles Lamb lecture with great assiduity. He is 
enjoying his work, but writes only too steadily. I must 
contrive some kind of diversion. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 197 

" Hanover, N. H., June. Most hospitable reception. 
Pleasant old-fashioned house under green elm trees. The 
lecture was given in the church where Webster, Choate, 
and others have addressed the College for many years. 
Every kind of festivity proper to the occasion ; even a 
serenade ! 

" Manchester, Sunday, August. Walked to church. 
Mr. Fields found himself lame ; returning stopped at the 
doctor's, who pronounced serious trouble at the knee, and 
gave iodine wash. 

" Monday. Mr. Fields went to town, saw a surgeon, and 
came back bringing splint, etc., etc., also two guests. . . . 

" September. Knee is no better. Neighbors and 
friends all kind and attentive. The hours do not seem 
to be long to the patient. He is cheerful. Reading 
Channing's ' Life of Thoreau ' with great satisfaction. 

" Charles Street, October. Mr. Fields still lame, 
but has had a comfortable week. Charles Sumner dined 
with us. He seemed less well than of late. He said 
it was frequently his habit to spend fourteen consecu- 
tive hours at his desk or in reading. The active exercise 
of composition was, of course, agreeable to him in cer- 
tain moods, but the passive exercise of reading was a 
never-ending delight. He spoke of Lord Brougham, 
Mrs. Norton and her two beautiful sisters. . . . There 
was much wit and humor that day at table. The ladies 
lingered long after coffee and cigars were brought, that 
they might not lose the conversation. Heard a good 
story of a deaf man lately married, who was asked at 
the Club about his bride : ' Is she pretty ? ' i No,' re- 
plied the deaf gentleman. ' No, she is not, but she will 
be when her father dies ! ' 



198 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

"November. Mr. Fields's course of lectures at the 
Lowell Institute began while he was still wearing a 
splint. Amusing anecdotes connected with his lectures 
are continually recurring. He met a man a day or two 
K ago who said he liked his lectures, ( for there did n't 
seem to be any of that shycanery in 'em so many people 
now-a-days put in.' Another said, ' his wife was amazed 
to see how interested she got in hearin' about these folks 
she 'd never known nothin' about before ; but she 'd like 
to ask who that ' North ' was anyhow ! (This was said 
after the lecture on * Christopher North, John Wilson.') 

" His own relation of an evening in a certain town of 
Massachusetts, where a long train of people came up to 
be introduced in succession with a ready-made speech, 
was very dramatic and comic. Last in the line came a 
grandmother holding her grandchild by the hand. Hav- 
ing made the regulation speech herself, the child also ad- 
dressed him with the same words and in a piping voice, 
which proved almost too much for the gravity of the 
lecturer. A certain definition of eloquence by one of his 
hearers was also given that same night. ' That 's what 
I call ellerquence,' he said ; ' I tell my wife I alius know 
what seems to me ellerquence by kind o' shivers which 
runs up and down my back. Well ! In one of your 
pieces I felt them shivers all over ; — that 's what I call 
real ellerquence.' 

"August 31, 1874. Ground broken for our sea-side 
house. The stone-cutters turned in with a will. 

" Boston, September. Very hot. Glad to think that 
4 Thunder Bolt Hill ' is ours. 

" Plymouth, N. H. Mr. Fields continues at work on 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 199 

his Wordsworth lecture. He has just read, first with 
amusement, and then wonderingly, that characteristic pas- 
sage where Wordsworth says of his own poetry : no one 
who has come at length to an admiration of his (Words- 
worth's) poems has ever been known to survive their 
satisfaction." 

"Monday Evening, September 14. A soft haze has 
overspread the hills to-day, indicating heat, but the cool 
breezes blow so delightfully about this place that we have 
not felt it. Took a long drive to Squam Lake and Hol- 
derness over a steep hill. It was very like some of the 
passes, perhaps Kirkstone, in the English lake country, 
and no less beautiful ; but the solitude here is more vast 
and unbroken. We passed a square brick house with a 
roof of shingles, belted around by a forest, several miles 
from any settlement, and a mile at least, I should say, 
from a neighbor. The side-door was wide open, and I 
caught a glimpse of a woman reading there as we drove 
by. We found the blue gentian and wild apples by the 
roadside. 

" Mr. Fields has gone this evening to give his lecture 
on Tennyson to the Normal School, the only school of 
this character in the State. It has struggled hard for 
existence, and is barely on a firm foundation now. He 
likes the principal of the school, and finds him interested 
in his work. 

" Walked across the broad meadows in the sunset, 
and paused under the drooping elms to watch the long 
shadows and yellow light play over the grass, and finally 
left the whole in dusky shade, with a glory shining on 
the hills around. 



200 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" Hanover, Thursday Evening, September 17. In the 
house of our kind friend, Professor S. We came from 
Plymouth to Hanover through the Pemigewasset Valley, 
and went thence to the Connecticut. The mist which 
has lain over the hills for the last few days, prognosti- 
cating the much needed rain, was thick enough to con- 
ceal some of the high peaks, but the soft gray light made 
the landscape only more beautiful with its gay maple 
boughs and brilliant green. 

" We soon came to the little town of Haverhill, beau- 
tifully situated in the valley of the Connecticut. The 
hills rise all around it. Nature in New England can 
hardly be seen to better advantage. Young girls were 
strolling, and perhaps studying, on the hill -sides, — 
flowers are cultivated ; there is a seminary ; altogether 
the people seemed in a fair way to use and understand 
their resources. There had been a three weeks' drought, 
and the roads were ankle deep with dust, but the clouds 
were gathering, and a tender gray sky overspread the 
beautiful scene as we drove across the river and through 
the village of Newbury to the hotel. We found a neat 
and comfortable harbor. A room high up, but the view 
across the meadows to the neighboring hills was en- 
trancingly beautiful. We stationed ourselves at separate 
windows, and could not take our eyes from the scene. 
Presently we sallied out for a walk to a hill called 
Montebello, which overhangs the lovely vale. The day 
was calm, with an occasional sunbeam straying through 
clouds and walking across the soft green carpet, perhaps 
two hundred feet below. The sheep and cows wandered 
slowly and luxuriously over the cool vast feeding ground) 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 201 

and large elms and maples cast shadows hardly less 
beautiful than the trees themselves. The birds were 
chattering around us, and their voices alone broke the 
silence. The calmness of eternity seemed to reign there. 
I felt sorry for those of our countrymen who, in igno- 
rance of these blissful retreats, fly to Europe as if all 
beauty had been left behind by the stern Pilgrims. 
There is nothing in the world more beautiful than the 
valley of the Connecticut and the Vermont hill-country. 
It is yet to be appreciated fully. 

We drove away the next day, although a soft misty 
atmosphere let down a little rain from time to time. 
Went on to Fairlee and Orford, — the river always in 
sight, and the scenery rich and various. Rain came 
fast by the time we reached the hotel at Orford, and it 
was dark early. A queer hotel, full of drovers and coun- 
trymen with no clean hands, who sat at the same table 
with us, and devoured endless varieties of excellent food 
as if it were all their right. The poor, pale little land- 
lady, with a crying baby on her arm, told me, — in ex- 
change for my remark that I should like another jug of 
water in our bedroom, — that she buried her eldest child, 
a beautiful boy, in the spring. She seemed to have 
left her heart chiefly in the child's grave, and the house 
went on as best it might. When I thought of that little 
woman attempting to provide pies and cakes, and the va- 
rious niceties with which the table was covered, for those 
exasperating drovers, who ate as if they were enlarged 
locusts sent to create a famine, I grew quite indignant. 
We walked about the beautiful village in the dusk, but 
the rain began to fall heavily, and we were driven in- 



202 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

doors and thence to bed, for lack of good lights and a 
place to sit. 

" Drove to Fairlee in the rain, and ordered crab-apple 
trees of a good old man, who has made this whole region 
of the country beautiful from his orchard, sending the 
trees up and down the river wherever people are wise 
enough to want them. Saw another country interior. 
A gray-haired woman, the mother of several children, all 
dead save one, the youngest, who was playing about. 
She was at work making the everlasting pies. She said 
4 the country was beautiful about there for those as had 
time to look at it. For her part, there was so much work 
to do in their house she never had time to go out much ! ' 
She was rapidly moving between her huge cooking-stove 
and the ironing-table as she talked. Called to decide 
on the apple trees, and returning to the sitting-room a 
young girl was ironing at the table. From her rather 
trim costume, cut in city fashion, I ventured to ask if 
she lived there. ' Oh no ! ' she said, ' her home was in 
Chicago. She had come to make her relatives a short 
visit, but as there was only one laundress in the village, 
and she was busy, she concluded to do up her own dress.' 
All of which was very commendable, but she did not 
seem to find pleasure in her novel experience. I said, 
4 How you must delight in this beautiful place after Chi- 
cago.' ' Well,' she said, lowering her voice so that her 
kind hostess should not hear, ' this is all very well for 
a few days, but it 's terribly lonely.' 

" We were glad to get away from the atmosphere of 
those women. In a paradise of natural beauty, with kind 
neighbors and some interesting people, too, within the 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 203 

radius of a mile, they allowed themselves to be utterly 
ignorant of the glory of nature as well as the human com- 
panionship they might have had. Drove a mile farther, 
into a solitude indeed, upon the hills, to the cottage of 

. We had no time to get out, neither could we 

do so, because the grass grew all round the door and was 
very wet. We sent in word who was there, and Mrs. 

, slipping on overshoes and taking shawl and 

umbrella, ran out to speak to us. Here was a difference ! 
4 1 never go out of that little brown hut,' she said, * from 
the time of the first snow-fall untiL spring returns, and 
sometimes when I get discouraged with the dull routine 
of things I go into my own room where I keep all the 
books you have sent me, and I take down Emerson or 
Carlyle, or some other friend, and I have all the society 
I need, and go back by and by refreshed to my work.' 
Tears sprang to our eyes as she talked. It was good to 
see her, and we shall not meet again as strangers." 

" October 9. The busy season of the year is again 
opening. Mr. Fields has lectured three times this week 
in different places. At one town a little girl of nine 
years came up to him after the lecture, put her arms 
around his neck and kissed him ! The child clung to 
him until he left, although she had never seen him be- 
fore. He brought home superb flowers. 

" In the train he met a man, a total stranger, who in- 
troduced himself, and then proceeded, little by little, to 
give him the full story of his life. A strange and mov- 
ing history it was, and the way in which he clung to his 
hearer was something extraordinary. He was a student, 
and a man of digested learning also, who had already 



204 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

made his mark in literature, but ' the sorrows of that 
line ' were unfolded with the directness of childhood." 

" New York, February 7, 1875. Dickens's birthday. 
A cold, raw, clouded day, contrasting with the wonderful 
floods of yellow sunshine which we have enjoyed ever 
since we left Boston. 

" Came to Saratoga, where Mr. Fields spoke the same 
evening. On the way in the yellow of the cold sunset 
the monument to young Ellsworth was pointed out to 
us on the summit of a hill. The marble eagle on the top 
shone in the bright air. 

" Pleasant reception and warm fire at Saratoga. The 
night very cold, clear and starry, the ground covered 
with snow. A ' lovely audience ' assembled to greet the 
lecturer, who came home warmed by the exertion of 
speaking. We had a comfortable little supper, chiefly 
on baked potatoes, by the side of our bedroom fire, and 
went most comfortably to sleep, in spite of the inquiring 
glance one must always cast at a strange bed in a hotel 
of mediocre achievements with respect to cooking. The 
next morning took a brisk ramble on the crisp snow. 
The change was delightful. We had left Boston almost 
impassable — the snow of the streets had been churned 
into a kind of gray meal, which clogged both wheel car- 
riages and runners, and the sidewalks were like rivulets 
with slippery bottoms. Here everything was so clean ! 
Cold, certainly, but fresh, and bright, and healthy. 

" That day to Poughkeepsie, where Mr. Fields lectured 
again. Here on the banks of the Hudson, though still 
cold, there was little snow to be seen. He came home 
rather tired from his lecture. They had given him no 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 205 

lamp for the desk, only foot-lights ! ! and general lofty 
illumination. The result was, he cut his lecture very 
short. Again, supper in our room, but ' the man ' had 
kept hini talking some time below stairs, and he was a 
little more tired. However, we rose soon after six the 
next morning, and went to Yassar College, where at nine 
o'clock he made an address to the students. There were 
three hundred and seventy-five young girls in the build- 
ing, and nearly that number must have attended the 
morning lecture. It was an audience of the best kind. 
He was as much pleased as they were. Afterward, we 
went over the building and the observatory, whither we 
went for the purpose of seeing Professor Maria Mitchell, 
whom the students love dearly. A bust of Mrs. Somer- 
ville was in her room, presented her by Frances Power 
Cobbe. We saw the telescope and instruments, also 
an arrangement or adjustment of lines for measurement 
which may be ranked among the 'discoveries.' It is 
Miss Mitchell's own. Instrument and room answer their 
purpose admirably, but twenty thousand dollars are re- 
quired to perpetuate the work here begun. One pair of 
hands may hold it for a time, but without a foundation 
there is danger of loss in the future. ... At night 
we reached New York. Mr. Fields was completely ex- 
hausted. 

" June, 1875. . First overtures from the Southern 
States to a real reconciliation. To-day three Southern 
regiments have arrived in Boston to help Massachusetts 
keep the centennial celebration of the battle of Bunker's 
Hill. One comes from Maryland, one from Baltimore, 
and one company from Charleston, South Carolina. The 



206 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

latter contains only forty-eight men, but it is the fact of 
their coming at all rather than the numbers which is im- 
pressive. Bayard Taylor came from New York to report 
the event for the 4 Tribune.' After dinner went? to hear 
Dr. Holmes and Dr. Ellis, at the opening of the exhi- 
bition of relics. There was hardly a dry eye when 
Holmes finished reading. 

" William Hunt at tea. Took out a letter from Du- 
veneck thanking him for the word of artistic recognition 
he so greatly needed. c Ah ! he 's got the right spirit,' 
said Hunt, 4 he loves art better than his native city. He 
loves the place where he was born and bred ; we all do 
so, and we can't help hankering after it ; but he loves 
art more, and he will go wherever he can find the most 
room for that. But how impossible it is to drum art 
into people if they can't see it. . . . They talk about 
Millet's not taking pains ! Why, he worked several 
weeks in my studio in Paris one winter, and was three 
weeks constantly upon one hand. The truth is, painters 
shouldn't talk. They should have their mouths sewed 
up tight, and DO the thing, not talk about it.' . . . 

" July 5, 1875. Writing in our own cottage at Man- 
chester. 

" This year an idea which was never absent from his 
mind, of teaching young people how and what to read, 
began to take shape in his thought. I find the printed 
title-page of a book before me, which was then projected. 
It was to be called, ' Talks with Young Scholars by an 
Old Scholar.' And the motto runs — 

" ' What at your book so hard ? . . . 

I '11 talk with this good fellow.' — Shakespeare. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 207 

" Several pages of the ' First Talk,' were also printed ; 
but it is probable that the continual use he was able to 
make of all his material in his never-ending lectures 
caused him to postpone any such publication. 1 Lectur- 
ing (out of Boston) usually signified something more 
than the simple delivery of the evening discourse ; there 
was always a high school or seminary in waiting, asking 
for a few words on the following morning, or the previ- 
ous afternoon. His tact with young people, and his 
power of interesting them in his subjects, was one of 
his peculiar gifts ; perhaps I ought to add also one of 
his peculiar enjoyments, therefore he yielded the more 
readily to the continual solicitation of teachers for his 
assistance. 

1 The following sketch, of topics for various chapters, with sug- 
gestions for titles, were found among his papers : — 

(Half-Hour) TALKS 
WITH YOUNG SCHOLAES, 





An Old Scholar. 




Topics. 




« & 


Habits of Study. 


Self- Control. 


S^ 


Public Speaking. 


Composition. 




Reverence. 


Patriotism. 


~i 


Punctuality. 


Enthusiasm. 




Reading. 




i. 1 

.8 S* 


Conversation. 
Exercise. 






Handwriting. 




Cold Water. 




S S 


Courtesy. 






Good Temper. 




1 s 1 


Debt. 




^ 1 



208 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

"]n the autumn of this year Mr. Fields again left 
home for Chicago, and a western lecturiug tour. Again, 
we enjoyed a hospitable reception, and saw much that 
was interesting under our friend Robert Collyer's guid- 
ance. Among other friendships begun, not ended, there 
was one with William Clarke who, in what might seem 
unsympathetic surroundings, had preserved his youthful 
love and enthusiasm untarnished. His treasures were 
not among seen and temporal things. 

" Came to Beloit, Wisconsin. A pleasant town full of 
comfortable homes ; but the youth who had taken the 
responsibility of sending for the lecturer in a moment of 
enthusiasm, neither understood the business he had un- 
dertaken, nor had counted the cost. It was too early in 
the season at best, and the town was a small one. There 
was no audience. The poor young man had no money 
to meet expenses, and was distressed beyond measure. 
Mr. Fields saw through the situation from the first mo- 
ment, and fully appreciated the ludicrous side of it. Af- 
ter all was over, he withdrew the frightened youth into 
a private room, saw that expenses were paid, and sent 
the poor fellow off rejoicing, and promising never to do 
so any more. 

" Left Beloit before dawn, rising at four A. M. for the 
purpose, and going breakfastless to the station in the 
dark. 

" Milwaukee, Sunday. First Sunday afternoon 
lecture ever given in this city. It was a great success ; 
at the Academy of Music. Beautiful city, but 4 cold as 
Christmas.' 

44 Racine. Lectured. Hotel overlooking the waters of 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 209 

Lake Michigan in the moonlight. Starting early the next 
day, we hardly arrived at Evanston (for the evening 
lecture) in time to dress. Up early again next day, and 
on through Chicago to Rockford. Walked through the 
town in the afternoon. We crossed Fox River, made 
famous by Abraham Lincoln's story. Mr. Fields is a 
little more tired and homesick than usual, but this is the 
first really home-sick place we have seen. 

" Madison, the capital of Wisconsin, one of the clear- 
est, cleanest, and most beautiful of western cities. The 
College has four hundred students, an equal number of 
women and men. The State House is like a small Greek 
temple, surrounded with trees. We were most hospit- 
ably entertained in the beautiful home of Ole Bull. Left 
Madison at midnight for Chicago, where we found our- 
selves at half-past seven in the morning, and no carriages 
at the station. Gathering our wraps we walked across 
the still half-sleeping city to the hotel. The morning 
air and exercise revived us, but in a few hours we were 
in the cars again, hot and airless, and on arrival at a 
place called Sterling found a broiling fire in our 
stived-up bedroom. The lecture was on 4 Cheerful- 
ness ! ' 

" The hall was crowded, though it is a place of only 
five thousand inhabitants. People pressed about him 
eagerly ; one woman came eighteen miles to talk of her 
brother, Ralph Keeler, whom Mr. Fields had known, and 
to hear the lecture. As he walked out in the morning, 
a rough man driving a country wagon came up to him, 
jumped from his seat, pulled off his buckskin glove, and 
asked to be allowed to pay his humble tribute of grati- 

14 



210 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

*. 

tude for the lecture, which he said had done him a world 
of good. ' Long after you have forgotten this place we 
shall remember you,,' one of his listeners said. 

" Omaha, Nebraska, October 17. Pretty tired after 
a long night and half day from Sterling to this place. 
The whole distance was like some noble garden, exquisite 
in sunset, moonlight, and morning. Here a fierce wind 
is blowing. It is dusty, and we begin to see the life 
Bret Harte describes in the faces, manners, and bearing 
of the people. We see fine horses and stalwart men. 
Everybody is kind and attentive to us. ' Opera House ' 
crowded. Men came in from the prairie in high boots 
to hear the lecture, leaving their horses outside. 

" October 19. Arose at four o'clock, jumped into an 
omnibus which rattled rudely along over the soft earthy 
avenues, and into occasional holes, especially near the 
street crossings, which are of plank, sometimes rising a 
foot above the level of the road. The vehicle was full, 
two women with young babies, not to speak of children 
of all ages taken from their beds, — a company of the 
unwashed. We had time, however, for everything ex- 
cept breakfast ! There was no express train. All day 
long we rattled on in cars heated by iron stoves, without 
dinner (they stopped somewhere and called it by that 
name, but we could not find courage to go in), until 
half-past six o'clock, when we reached Iowa city, where 
' Cheerfulness ' was again given to a fine audience. 

" October 20. Went to prayers at the University of 
Iowa, which stands in a park opposite the hotel. Saw 
six hundred boys and girls together. A fine sight. 
Later in the day we walked across the bridge which 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 211 

spans the Iowa River. The day was exquisite, warm as 
summer, with a soft haze. We sat on the hillside enjoy- 
ing it, greatly amused in watching a family trying to 
get a drove of pigs to market. . . . 

" Bloomington, Illinois. Arriving at half-past ten 
at night, we found a reunion of the Thirty-third Illinois 
Regiment — with other soldiers, officers, and their wives, 
amounting to three hundred persons, — had taken posses- 
sion of the hotel. It was a most interesting sight, how- 
ever, as such reunions must always be. When they dis- 
covered Mr. Fields was in the hall, they would not rest 
until he had responded for Massachusetts. His speech, 
though short, was to the point, and the applause was 
simply terrific. There was no liquor on the tables, and 
the presence of women gave a cheerful aspect, which 
kept the memorial day from becoming too painful. One 
man who had lost a leg tottered as he rose to speak, 
whereat another one-legged comrade rose up and sup- 
ported him. 

" Were driven to see the State Normal School and 
Orphans' Home. Both noble establishments, of which 
Iowa may well be proud. Our guide wore a toothpick in 
his mouth, which he revolved restlessly with his tongue 
until you were perplexed as to the possibility of that 
member's evading any longer the sharp point inside. He 
wished to show us the museum, 4 the first in America, 
sir ! ' also parks, kitchens, laundries, cupolas, and every 
imaginable corner. I took the lecturer's part steadfastly, 
declaring that, with a lecture before him that evening, 
he could go up and down no more stairs. Except for 



212 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

this excuse I know not what would have become of 
us." 1 . . . 

" Arrived at . The place was full of kindliness, 

stove-heat, and enthusiasm for Mr. Fields! . . . School- 
house, — all house and very little school ; teachers salaries 
worse than very little. . . . 

" Reached Boston October 31st. November 3d Mr. 

1 We cut the inclosed out of one of the local newspapers : — 

OATS AND BARLEY. 

Fifty thousand bushels wanted at our oat-meal mill in Coralville, 
for which we will pay the highest market price. 

Turner & Co. 

THE IOWA CORN CROP. 

Iowa is a growing State — scarce thirty years old. Among other 
products she will this year add to the sum total, 140,000,000 bushels 
of corn. Now let us see what this means when put in a comprehen- 
sive form. It will require an army of 150,000 grangers twenty days 
to pluck and crib the ears. If shipped it would require 4,666 ships 
of 1,000 tons each to carry the crop. If transported upon cars, it 
will require 470,000 cars, and would make a train 2,750 miles in 
length, or space nearly across the continent. If loaded upon wag- 
ons, with carrying capacity of thirty bushels each, the train would 
form a line 27,000 miles long, or 2,000 miles more than the circuit 
of the globe. If emptied down upon the city of New York, it would 
overwhelm that city as were Herculaneum and Pompeii. If made 
into whiskey, it would float the United States navy, or make every 
man, woman, and child upon the face of the earth drunk. It means 
fat horses, fat beef, fat hogs, fat poultry, and fat pocket-books. It 
means that it will open bank vaults and start the wheels of com- 
merce. Here in young Iowa are mines richer than California, or 
Ophir, or Peru. Fifty thousand square miles of surface diggings 
and all " play dirt." Then why not come to Iowa? — Council Bluffs 
Nonpareil. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 213 

Fields left again for Williams College, where he lectured 
three successive nights. . . . 

" Boston, February. Went to see Sothern in David 
Garrick. A beautiful piece of dramatic art. He said 
afterward at supper, in speaking of the vagaries of the 
mind, that he was always tempted when he came to the 
love-making of that play to astonish the audience by 
turning a somersault or two before them on the stage. 
He reminded us of Dickens again, as he always does. 
The flashing glance, the clear-cut speech, the love of 
effects, the keen, almost unobservable study of his com- 
panions, the very sound of his laugh, — but of course the 
measureless tenderness, the unselfish regard of which 
Dickens was capable, and which made him the master 
he was, can only be known once. 

" Sothern amused us immensely telling us of his 
hatreds, ' musical boxes and photographs.' They are 
his red rags. He illustrated his own love of practical 
jokes : — 

" He had invited a friend, who was going up to Lon- 
don to some entertainment, to sleep in his chambers, he 
himself having planned, just at that time, to be away. 
He changed his plans, however, for some good reason, 
and forgetting all about his invitation, went to his cham- 
bers to sleep on that particular night when his friend 
was to take possession. He had gone quietly in at a 
late hour, as was his wont, and had just thrown off his 
coat and collar, when he heard a snoring in the inner 
room. For a moment he was startled, but soon the 
ludicrousness of the whole thing burst upon him. Put- 
ting on his coat once more, he took a huge music-box, 



214 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

which some misguided friend had given him, wound it 
up, and put it under the bed. It was one of the kind 
that has hammers and bells and every sort of noisy ac- 
companiment. Soon the thing ' went off.' His dramatic 
representation of the horror of the inhabitant of the bed, 
and his own enjoyment of the joke from behind the door, 
was very diverting. . . . 

" Passed the evening in Hunt's studio. When we 
arrived he said they were just ' fixin' ' for the company ! 
He was moving about in his liveliest and most restless 
way. Every now and then he would hear a noise from 
a small nephew behind a screen. ' He 's arrangin' the 
cake,' said Hunt. Presently, when the cake was ar- 
ranged ! it was brought in a huge tin dish and placed on 
the top of a high stool near his easel during the evening. 
Then he began to show his work — the portrait of 
Agassiz, one of a lady, and many drawings in pastel and 
charcoal. Also a fine woman's figure holding a man- 
dolin, with beautiful green drapery and yellow hair. 
Some one said, ''tis like Paul Veronese,' 'but softer,' 
said Hunt, ' 't is softer now, is n't it,' in a kind of boyish 
and appealing way. We had delightful music. When 
it was time to go Hunt said, hugging himself and dan- 
cing about, ' if you will go, I 'm glad I have n't shown 
you everything. I 've lots more ! ! ' 

" Wellesley, June, 1876. The sun was streaming 
across the lawn and the great trees flinging down their 
shadows as we approached the college, a very fine build- 
ing filled with three hundred young women. Six girls 
rowed us across the lake. It was a lovely sight, espe- 
cially as we approached the garden shore. Returning, 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 215 

Mr. Fields gave his lecture on De Quincey, and after- 
ward enjoyed the evening with his host and hostess in 
the fine library of the college." 

This is the first record of a series of visits to 
Wellesley, which ended only with Mr. Fields's 
death. His associations with the place and its 
founders were something more than agreeable, — 
they were those of friendship. These ties strength- 
ened with the years, and as he always loved his 
friends in a way to help them, so his interest in 
Wellesley was deeply appreciated by its pro- 
jectors. 

" October 27, 1876. Lectured in Springfield en route 
to Buffalo and Niagara. The scene at the Falls was 
never more impressive. Walked about the place the 
livelong day except an hour for dinner. 

" Obeklin. Lecture most successful. The young 
men hung about his steps till the last moment. Rose at 
half-past five, and left before the sun appeared. The air 
was delicious, the horses strong, and we watched the per- 
fect beauty of the dawn as we drove over the solitary 
road, heavy with black soft soil. How endless and for- 
lorn some of these roads looked, branching out, no one 
knows whither, and reaching over utter solitudes. We 
were driven by a young student, who replied civilly to 
our questions about growing things, birds, even milk-cans, 
and all kinds of matters, such as beset the wandering 
eyes of the traveler. The milk-cans were indeed pro- 
digious in that district. They were explained when we 



216 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

understood that we had entered the town of Wellington, 
one of the largest cheese depots in the world. Some 
quick eye, seeing the name on our trunk as we drove 
through the town, a deputation waited on Mr. Fields at 
the station to pray him to stay over one day and lecture. 

" It was very warm as we rode on across the vast State 
of Ohio, with its gathered corn, its springing winter 
wheat, its vast cultivated plains and rather slow rivers. 
Mr. Fields was deeply interested in the sight, especially 
as we drew near to Dayton, where is the Soldiers' Home, 
dear to us because of the fine library that belonged to 
one of our young Massachusetts soldiers who fell at Ball's 
Bluff. It was presented to this Home by his mother. 

" Cincinnati, November 3. Dark November weather. 

"November 4. Lecture last night on Wordsworth 
drew a crowded house. Everybody is more than kind. 
This morning a fog deep as that of London covers every- 
thing. 

" Lectures continued daily — all very successful. 

" Chicago, November 9, 1876. Intensely anxious as 
to the result of the election. Eager crowds at every 
station on the way to snatch the newspapers. 

" The next evening Mr. Fields lectured at a place called 
Princeton, traveling all night after speaking, and return- 
ing to Chicago at seven o'clock, A. M. . . . Left Chicago 
for a week of lectures throughout Wisconsin. . . . Re- 
turning Friday, lectured Friday evening at Beloit, and 
again traveling all night, reached Chicago at day-break. 
He is not well ; after resting we walked down town, and 
dined alone together, which seemed to do him good. 

" Sunday. McCormick's vast hall crowded to hear 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES., 217 

the i Plea for Cheerfulness.' Everybody enthusiastic 
and aglow. 

" Buffalo. Walking out in the afternoon to see the 
lecture-room for the evening, Mr. Fields stumbled over 
the steps in a dark entry, and sprained his ankle. With 
the aid of cold wet compresses and a physician's care, 
he gave his lecture, sitting, but otherwise as if nothing 
were the matter. Thanksgiving day dined at East Buf- 
falo railway station. Much amused by a party, appar- 
ently the Fezziwig family, also dining. It was a wonder- 
fully clean little place with the best of home-cooked 
dinners. We were waited upon by a young woman in 
the cleanest of clean gowns. She said, in answer to our 
inquiries about the jolly party, ' Oh, it 's the family, and 
they ain't all here neither ! ' So ' the family ' was mak- 
ing merry in its own restaurant ! — and who should have 
a better right. 

" New York, December, 1876. Mr. Fields lectures in 
New York, Swarthmore, and West Chester, alternately, 
every week." 

With this month the diary ends. It never was 
resumed. Engagements and occupations absorbed 
the time and strength of both, and personal inter- 
ests gave way to other claims. I cannot, however, 
allow Mr. Fields's lectures, which will never be 
printed, to pass into oblivion, without striving to 
rescue some memory of their peculiar qualities and 
influence. For this purpose, in order that no mis- 
take may be made by substituting private opinion 



218 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

for genuine public recognition, I turn to the trib- 
utes paid him through the newspapers and peri- 
odicals. In one of the Philadelphia newspapers I 
find: — 

" We do not attempt to criticise Mr. Fields. No one 
can, without loving him, listen to his soft, gentle voice, 
in the quiet, conversational tone with which he puts his 
audiences in warm personal relations with him." 

A writer in Worcester, Mass., where he always 
found a delightful audience, says : — 

" The lecturer spoke of the good done the world by- 
pleasant people, meaning by pleasant people those who 
are to the manor born, seeing everything and everybody 
at the best and under a certain illumination, not those 
who are pleasant now and then or at times when they 
are pleased. Somewhere in a new England cemetery, on 
a gravestone, said the speaker, is to be found, with the 
name and age, the line, i She was so pleasant.' ' Think,' 
said he, ' what a delightful character she must have been 
to have an epitaph like that. It makes one think that a 
choir of nightingales is perched upon her grave and sing- 
ing melodious chants to her memory.' " 

Also, from Worcester, came the following pri- 
vate note, one among many from other quarters of 
the same nature ; the source of which remains un- 
discovered : — 

" Worcester, Mass., January 11, 1879. 

" Me. James T. Fields : — I must ever count among 
my chief blessings the privilege of hearing the course of 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 219 

lectures upon English literature you are now giving in 
our city. It cannot be a matter of indifference to you 
that you have greatly blessed and helped one in sore 
need. 

" I thank you from my heart for showing me that a 
great noble learned man can yet be modest and simple, 
as our Saviour's type of his own pure kingdom, a little 
child. Whereas I was once, to a great extent, blind, I 
believe I have now both eyes open, and please God I will 
never shut them again. 

" May you have many, many happy useful years, 

"A Grateful Hearer." 

Again in a paper from Pawtucket, Massachu- 
setts, I find : — 

" The lecture, from beginning to end, was an absorb- 
ing literary treat. He spoke of the importance of novels 
and the influence they exerted upon the mind and so- 
ciety, commended the good and warmly denounced the 
bad ; in the latter case amply illustrating the debasing 
effect the pernicious trash, from the dime novel to the so- 
called periodicals for boys and girls, which take up the 
larger portion of our newsdealers' counters, has had and 
is liable to have upon the readers of the abominable 
stuff ; and his words upon this portion of his subject 
ought to be printed in circular form and spread broadcast 
over the entire country." 

And from Exeter, New Hampshire : — 

" Mr. Fields has done more than any other American 
to familiarize us with the men of letters of the old world 



220 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

and their works ; and the nation owes him a debt of 
gratitude which will become greater as the ranks of our 
scholars increase. His opportunities have been pecul- 
iarly advantageous, his memory is prodigious, and he 
has gathered in a store of fact and narrative that renders 
him the most charming lecturer of the day. . . . He is 
able to surround his subjects with an interest, a fresh- 
ness, and a wealth of reminiscence of which no other 
lecturer is capable." 

From the New York " Tribune " : — 

" The effect of such a course of lectures on the great 
public cannot easily be estimated. At every discourse 
there must be at least a small number to whose minds a 
new world is suddenly opened. The mind which has 
been favored with the advantages of education in its 
more practical sense, may find a never-ending interest 
and pleasure in the labors of science, the studies of po- 
litical economy, the pages of history, the puzzling prob- 
lems of higher mathematics, or the wondrous progress of 
mechanical invention ; yet unless the lights of modern 
English literature have beamed upon their libraries they 
must pass through earth-life in a shadow." 

Finally a writer in the " New York Post/' hav- 
ing heard one of his lectures in Boston, re- 
marks : — 

" Mr. Fields was clearly of the mind that Bostonians 
had the opportunities for too much education, and it was 
a timely suggestion, that if the public libraries could not 
be weeded of some of their sensational trash, well quali- 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 221 

fled indicators should be appointed who should gauge the 
requirements of applicants, and tell them what books 
they ought to read." 

This paragraph revives the memory of an idea 
which was a growth from his experience, and 
which he always believed to be perfectly feasible. 
Public libraries, he considered, could effect but a 
small part of the good for which they were in- 
tended until persons of judgment and sympathy 
could be found and appointed as indicators to 
assist readers in the selection of proper books. 

The kind of affectionate personal interest which 
grew up in the minds of his hearers toward him 
was exceptionally noticeable. During the lecture 
season his house was seldom without flowers, offer- 
ings from his grateful listeners. He did not often 
return empty handed from his evening reading. 
This was but one expression of the influence he 
exerted. 

In vain, during these pages, have I hoped to 
recall in words something of the vitalizing, en- 
couraging, sympathizing, and above all simple and 
human presence which Mr. Fields was to all who 
knew him. I fear it may not be ! But there is, 
at least, one striking characteristic of him not yet 
expressed, — he could bring the most adverse na- 
tures together, and, if war were not previously de- 
clared between them, they would separate liking 



222 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

each other better than they had ever believed pos- 
sible. He was born to harmonize, and the amount 
of such business he was called upon to do was very 
unusual. 

Meanwhile he was continuously occupied at his 
desk, as the subjoined list of twenty-seven lec- 
tures, which he had ready at this period, will 
show. 1 

He found it difficult to shake off his old occu- 
pation altogether. " Once a publisher always a 
publisher," he would say. Sometimes, however, 
the applications were too much even for his pa- 
tience, and I find the following paragraph, cut 
from one of the daily papers : — 

" Mr. J. T. Fields is compelled again to request pub- 
licly that no more manuscripts may be sent to him for 
examination, as he has not been connected with any 
magazine or publishing-house for several years, and can- 
not undertake to find publishers for either prose or po- 

1 Importance of the Study and Reading of English Literature. 
Literary and Artistic Life in London, Thirty Years ago. Fiction, 
Old and New, and its Eminent Authors. A Plea for Cheerfulness. 
Masters of the Situation. John Milton (two lectures). Alexander 
Pope. Oliver Goldsmith. Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Robert Burns. 
Mr. and Mrs. Browning. Walter Scott. Lord Byron. William 
Cowper. William Wordsworth. Charles Lamb. Alfred Tennyson. 
Thomas Campbell. Sydney Smith, "Christopher North" (John 
Wilson). Thomas Hood. Keats and Shelley. Thomas De Quincey 
(the " English Opium Eater "). William Cullen Bryant. Nathaniel 
Hawthorne. Henry W. Longfellow. Rufus Choate. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 223 

etry. He regrets that he has no leisure to read or give 
opinions on imprinted matter, as ' he would gladly do if 
differently situated,' and respectfully begs to refer all 
applicants to Messrs. J. R. Osgood and Company, or to 
Mr. Howells, the editor of 'The Atlantic Monthly.' 
Daring the last two months forty bulky manuscripts 
have been sent to Mr. Fields, from various parts of the 
country, with no provision inclosed for return postage or 
express charges." 

In April, 1875, Mr. Fields visited Jesse Pomeroy 
in his cell. It was altogether out of his usual plan 
to do anything of the kind, believing it to be a 
mistake to gaze upon misery or wrong which you 
can do nothing to alleviate. In this case, how- 
ever, it will be seen he had a' definite end in view. 
He had loug held the opinion, that if the influence 
of good literature was beneficent, the opposite was 
also true, — the effect of bad literature must be 
deteriorating. In an unpublished paper upon this 
subject he says : — 

" I have for a long time been of the opinion that the 
increase of crime is largely owing to the reading of im- 
moral and exciting cheap books. . . . Traveling about 
the country I see young people everywhere absorbed in 
reading, to say the least, a doubtful class of literature. 
On the railroads I see school-boys secluding themselves 
from observation busily occupied in reading 'Dime Nov- 
els,' as they are called. If I go into the engine or bag- 
gage apartment, I always find one or two workmen off 



224 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

duty, earnestly devouring the ' Police Gazette,' or other 
illustrated journals devoted to crime. On steamboats, 
the corners of settees, and boxes on the freight deck, are 
frequently occupied with readers all intent on the gar- 
bage thrown out to them by infamous scribblers who 
pander to all the worst passions of human or inhuman 
nature. ... I found the advertisements of low theatres 
in all our cities holding out cheap inducements to crowd 
the pit and gallery when Helen Western played Jack 
Sheppard, and made robbery heroic to that extent, that 
the high sheriff of Suffolk told me, when this woman 
played that character at the Howard, young thieves mul- 
tiplied perceptibly in Boston during her engagement. 
The popular play that crowds the Howard Athenaeum 
this very week every night with boys from ten to nine- 
teen, is called, ' Escaped from Sing-Sing,' and is based, 
I am told, on the easy immunity from the punishment of 
crime. . . . Having been so long interested in hunting 
out, if possible, proofs that demoralizing cheap literature 
was working bad results, I resolved to visit the Pomeroy 
boy in his cell, and question him as to the books he had 
been reading from childhood. ... I began my conver- 
sation by frankly telling him why I wished for an inter- 
view. 

" ' I see, sir, that you come from no morbid curiosity,' 
was his prompt reply. I then asked him if he was fond 
of reading. He said, ' Very, I read everything I can 
get.' ' When did you first begin to be fond of read- 
ing?' I asked him. ' I guess about nine years of age.' 
4 What kind of books did you first begin to read ? ' 
4 Oh, blood and thunder stories ! ' 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 225 

" ' Were the books small ones ? ' 

" ' Yes, most Beadle's dime novels.' 

" ' How many of Beadle's dime novels do you think you 
read from nine years old upward ? ' 

" 4 Well, I can't remember exactly, but I should think 
sixty.' 

" c Do you remember the titles of most of them ? ' 

" ' No, sir, but " Buffalo Bill " was one of the best.' 

" c What were the books about ? ' 

" * Killing and scalping injuns and so forth, and running 
away with women ; a good many of the scenes were out 
on the plains." 

" ' Were there any pictures in the books ? ' 

" 4 Yes, sir, plenty of them, blood and thunder pictures, 
tomahawking, and scalping.' 

" 4 Did your parents know you were reading those 
books all through those years ? ' 

" ' No, I kept it away from them.' 

" c Do you think you read more of those books than 
any of the boys who lived near you ? ' 

" i Yes, sir, a great many more, I had a kind of passion 
for 'em.' 

" 4 Do you think these books were an injury to you, 
and excited you to commit the acts you have done ? ' 

" ' Yes, sir, I have thought it all over, and it seems to 
me now they did. I can't say certainly, of course, and 
perhaps if I should think it over again, I should say it 
was something else.' 

" ' What else ? ' 

" ' Well, sir, I really can't say.' 

16 



226 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" ' Would you earnestly advise the other boys not to 
read these books you have read ? ' 
" ' Indeed, sir, I should.' " 

This visit left a deep and painful impression. 
Pomeroy confessed a sense of irresponsibility, not 
knowing what " I might do half an hour from now, 
though I feel so quiet, sitting and talking with 
you," which increased the mystery and the diffi- 
culty of the case ; but I think it will be felt that 
Mr. Fields's visit was not without fruit, in the 
discovery that he had a mania for literary poison 
above any of his fellows, had secretly indulged 
his taste, and had lived to hope that other boys 
might be saved from a like indulgence. 

In the spring of 1874, Mr. Fields lectured again 
at Dartmouth College. Afterwards he wrote from 
his favorite Plymouth : — 

. . . " Had a crammed church-full last evening at the 
Hanoverian Court ; shook hands with untold students 

before retiring. 's all charming and most attentive. 

Rose at five this A. M. Took cars to Wells River. Glo- 
rious ride through forty miles of apple blossoms, and a 
background of mountains. . . . Drove to Willeys. Porch, 
excellent and popular. [One we had ourselves sug-, 
gested and, in an amateur fashion, designed.] An ex- 
quisite vista opened in front of the house according to 
your direction. They can't make anything creep up the 
porch. Will you send some Virginia creeper." 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 227 

In the autumn of the same year he gave courses 
of lectures during the month of November in 
Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington. 

He was cordially greeted everywhere, but such 
incessant labor was altogether incompatible with 
social enjoyments, and in one of his letters he 
writes : — 

" Painfully harassed with invitations of these good peo- 
ple to dine, sup, sleep, lunch, drive, and make speeches 
in their houses." 

While in Philadelphia he says : — - 

" Went yesterday to the Great Normal School and had 
to c say something,' contrary to my wishes. They seemed 
to expect it, so I got up, and they were happy although 
I was not. My audience last night at the Academy 
(Lamb), was simply delightful. Never saw such atten- 
tive and so many wet faces over poor Charles and Mary 
at the closing passages. ... I am all right, with the ex- 
ception of great heat and plenty of mosquitoes. They 
are lovely people here in this house, from the baby to the 
father and mother. . . . 

" What a season it is ! Here the warmth is oppres- 
sive. . . . You make me hear the sparrows chirping out- 
side our windows. ... I never read such notices of the 
lectures as appear in these newspapers. They could say 
no more if Dickens or Thackeray were lecturing. It is 
really too preposterous an outbreak of praise even for a 
man to send his wife ! No, I won't. 

" I cannot bear to think of you as alone. Pray send 



228 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

for and go to all the concerts you can, and to Toole 

also. God bless you, and bring us safe together in a few 
weeks. . . . Think of my journeys to and fro ! On the 
9th in Westchester ; next day over the road to Baltimore ; 
next day back to Philadelphia ; to-day at twelve Balti- 
more again ; next day to Washington ; next day back to 
Philadelphia; the day after to Washington again; then 
back to Philadelphia; next day to Germ an town; next 
day on the road back to Washington ; next day back to 
Philadelphia ; then back to Washington, and thank God ! 
that is all ! 

" Philadelphia, Monday. I rose very early yester- 
day (Sunday), and went from eight to ten to hear Moody 
and Sankey, who spoke and sang to 10,000 people. Very 
impressive from its true earnestness. . . . 

" This lecturing is fatiguing work, and my throat gets 
so full of dust on the railroads that I feel sometimes 
at my journey's end like a scraped carrot. But it will 
be over soon now, thank God, and I shall set my face 
sternly against lecture halls for awhile. They want me 
at Baltimore to begin at once at the Mercantile Library 
Rooms, four lectures as a course, but I can't and I won't. 
. . . We are to have your health proposed at dinner in 
a royal bumper. [It was our wedding day.] ... I 
could not resist making an offer in Baltimore for that 
Stuart (original) head. ... If it arrives pray tell me 
if it is not beautiful ? . . . My legs ache so this morn- 
ing that I could not run away even from 's moth- 
er!" 

" The Fifth Avenue Hotel mistook me, as usual, for 
somebody else, and gave me a beautiful room on the first 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 229 

floor, although my fellow travelers were sent up four 
flights ! How will all this end, when they find out 
that I am not Cyrus, or Dudley, or John ! . . . I found 

at the hotel and lonely last night, so I took him to 

see Raymond in Mark Twain's new play, which is simply 
delicious. We bought fifty cent tickets for the gallery, 
but Raymond sent up and had us brought down into the 
stage-box. His success is tremendous in this piece. The 
house was crowded, and he has already played the piece 
fifty nights. It is to run one hundred more, probably. 
I don't know when I have laughed more than over Ray- 
mond's fun in the play. I fairly disturbed the audience 
twice. ... I don't expect much of an audience myself 
to-night. The election has dissipated all interest in any- 
thing else, I apprehend. The Massachusetts news of 
yesterday is black ! black ! 

- " Thursday morning. Good audience. All pleased ; 
some enthusiastic. To-day I must rest, as I feel somewhat 
leg-weary. I will not go out to dine six times a day, or 
to supper after lecture. ... It is just five o'clock A. M., 
and although I did not go to bed until one this morning, 
four hours ago, I am up and at work. The truth is, I 
could not sleep. My audience at the Academy last night 
was a most exciting one, and slumber was banished from 
my eyelids. My subject was 'Literary and Artistic Life 
in London,' and I had touched it up in the afternoon with, 
new things, and I suppose it was more than usually ex- 
citing. Harry Brown said afterwards it was the great 
hit of the course, and my hearers behaved as if it were. 
... I have answered and declined seven invitations for 
dinner on Friday of this week." 



230 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Henry Armitt Brown, whose opinion is quoted 
in the previous letter, died in the flower of man- 
hood. Apart from all private grief, his loss to the 
city of Philadelphia has left a gap which will long 
remain unfilled. He possessed distinguished abil- 
ity as well as attractiveness, and his local reputa- 
tion as an orator was fast breaking local bounds, 
when he was snatched away from this world's am- 
bition and labors. I find several affectionate let- 
ters of his to Mr. Fields, from which a few extracts 
may be in place here, showing readiness and grace 
with the pen, as well as glimpses of those higher 
qualities which justly distinguished him : — 

"113 South Twenty-first, Philadelphia, June 16, 1875. 
"James T. Fields, Esq., 

" My dear Friend : Had you been able to have seen 
my delight when I opened the package from Boston, 
yesterday afternoon, you would have felt, I am sure, that 
the reward of a good action is peace. Selah ! I was 
sitting in my den, — a bundle of most wretched law 
papers lying in front of me, threatening the utter de- 
struction of my happiness for the remainder of the day, 
— and feeling, as I am apt to do under such circum- 
stances, miserably dull. There is, to one of my tempera- 
ment, no doll quite so full of sawdust of the driest kind 
as the purely legal doll. To me, then, sitting alone and 
waiting for courage enough to attack my j uiceless bundle, 
entered a maid-servant, armed with a suspicious looking 
package. 'By express,' quoth she, and laid it by my 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 231 

side and vanished. The purple ink and the peculiar 
twist of certain letters struck me at once : I heaved a 
sigh — up from the deepest depths — and murmured to 
myself but half aloud, ' Fields ! ' Breaking the string, 
and opening the wrapper, I soon extricated the venerable 
book, and beheld with reverential delight the book-plate 
of the great D. W. I guessed the rest, and needed not 
the words you had written on the fly-leaf to understand 
the whole. I am a thousand times your debtor. Not for 
its own sake merely — nor for old Walker's, venerable 
soul, — nor yet for mighty Daniel's, now alas so long 
ago gone to judgment, — shall that sturdy old volume be 
dear to me, but for yours, O my friend, and the associa- 
tions which shall make it ever ' a sweet remembrancer ' 
of you. Thine ever, 

"Henry Aemitt Brown." 

"Philadelphia, May 4, 1876. 

" My dear Friend : As pants the hart for streams 
and things, I wait thy coming. The humble cot is 
ready, the tea-urn sings beside the crackling log, and the 
latch-string hangs far out, inviting your longed-for touch. 
The town is full, the streets crammed with gaping 
strangers, the cars go to and fro heavily laden, there is 
a buzz and bustle everywhere, and, yonder in the Park, 
the great Leviathan stands up overwhelmingly big and 
awful. The huge portals are still shut, but the din of 
hammers comes resounding from within, and the mur- 
mur of many voices in as many tongues. Philadelphia 
is dressing for the fete, and there is a sense of expecta- 



232 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

tion in the very air we breathe. Come and stand with 
us on the threshold. 

" Always sincerely, 

"Henry Armitt Brown." 

" Certain fishers of men are in an ecstasy of happi- 
ness. None of your occasional catches for them to-day ! 
Imagine some of our 'leading citizens,' with drag nets 
out, and the waters fairly swarming with distinguished 
strangers ! Prophets and kings may have yearned to 
see such things, but died ignobly without the chance." 

" June 5, 1876. 

"My dear Friend: Praise from Sir Hubert, you 
know, and recommendations from you, are valuable in- 
deed. I don't know exactly how to get up the subject 
you suggest. I might prepare a lecture on the social 
business of a hundred years ago, and ditto on the polit- 
ical. Could the subject be expanded into three or four, 
think you ? and, if so, can you give me any suggestion ? 
A hint always helps me amazingly, and I should rejoice 
to have one or many from you apropos of these discourses. 
Thanks for the thoughts of me, again." 

A few days later Mr. Fields writes again from 
Philadelphia : — 

"On arriving here yesterday, P. M., dead beat with 
fatigue from "Washington, I found your letters. . . . My 
Washington audience is a delight. I go again on Fri- 
day. . . . To-day I find myself with a tormenting cold. 
. . . This cursed traveling, a hundred miles a day on an 
average, is not the best thing for throat and lungs." . . . 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 233 

It was the old story ; traveling and speaking 
proving too much for human endurance. The 
excitement of audiences, the pleasure of respond- 
ing to the social kindnesses extended on every 
hand, the ceaseless efforts of mind and body, can- 
not be borne without serious results. 

From Baltimore, at the same period, he wrote : — 

" Had a fine audience here last night, and the old 
Plea < made them roar.' It never took better anywhere. 
At West Chester the night before I gave them ' Long- 
fellow,' and the success beggars my descriptive powers. 
One man made me go home with him to have a glass of 
champagne, for he said he was an old fellow, and might 
never hear me again. Mr. H., at whose house I slept, 
had a large dinner party the P. M. I arrived, and we had 
a jolly time with the clergymen and the doctors and law- 
yers, — a bad preparation for the lecture at eight o'clock ; 
but the party was all made up for me days ago without 
my knowledge. Your dear letter of Friday met me on 
the way, through Philadelphia to Baltimore yesterday, 
by the kindness of H. F., who is incontestably the finest 
host I ever knew. I will tell you all about it on my 
return. Here comes the omnibus." 

Again from Baltimore : — 

" Only a word to say, ' All right,' and that Baltimore 
is the prince of cities to lecture in. ... It seems that 
the Catholic people here are my staunch friends. To- 
night I am tired, and have got my books and a soft coal 
fire, and here I shall sit until twelve or one o'clock to 



234 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

get the kind faces out of my brain. . . . The heat in 
the cars to-day roasted me, and when a woman opened 
a window on my back I resolved to give up lecturing." 

"Washington, Saturday, November 21, 1874. 
" Great and glorious time last night at Lincoln Hall. 
I never saw an audience more bent on hearing. They 
waited for me as I came out and seized my hand, and 
wrung it as if I had saved a nation. I was glad to get 
into the carriage." 

In January, 1874, he wrote from New York : — 

" Last night I went to the Intercollegiate dinner, as 
most earnestly requested by the chancellor and faculty 
of the New York University. I never saw a more inter- 
esting occasion. The young prize student sat on the 
right of the chancellor, and I was placed on the left. . . . 

" During the chancellor's toast, proposing the health 
of the prize student, in most fitting words, it was de- 
lightful to read the feeling and modesty in the young 
man's face. When he rose to reply, it was done so ad- 
mirably I declare I never was more touched. What he 
said was perfect ; the point being, that if he had suc- 
ceeded it was all owing to his instructors who had pre- 
sided over the college during his four years' study. It 
was most lovely to see how real and unaffected the little 
fellow was. It was a study of grace and earnestness. 
His father sat near me, and never was parent more de- 
lighted. The whole scene was touching to the last de- 
gree. ... I was the only man beside Whitelaw Reid 
who was present from the committees." 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES, 235 

This dinner was a result of the first year's work 
of the Intercollegiate Literary Association, in the 
establishment of which Mr. Fields had taken a 
lively interest. Much against his will, in face of 
his other engagements, he was chosen one of the 
judges, and during the previous months had been 
obliged to examine and pronounce upon a large 
number of essays in company with his co-workers, 
Thomas "Wentworth Higginson and Richard Grant 
White. The judges of oratory that same year 
were, William Cullen Bryant, Whitelaw Reid, and 
George William Curtis. 

In January, 1875, he again went as far west as 
Buffalo, returning to Philadelphia and the vicin- 
ity, always meeting the same untiring kindness 
and hospitality. 

From Buffalo he wrote : — 

" I have just come back from St. James Hall (where 
Dickens read), and am to send off a few words before I 
go to roost on my strange perch. And first, it seemed 
as if old i Cheerfulness ' never did hit the mark so straight 
before. It took like vaccination. They wanted me to 
promise to come again before I left the hall, but darn 
'em, it 's too far away from you and home. We don't 
know what cold weather is in Boston. Yesterday, when 
we got to Batavia, the glass stood at ten below ! The 
pipes in the cars had to be thawed out by red hot irons 
constantly run into them. I thought we should never 
get here, and I wished Buffalo had been further, and I 



236 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

never had heard of it. I started from Boston at half- 
past eight A. M., and arrived here at four on Tuesday 
morning, nineteen long hours. How I hated my voca- 
tion ! But a good fire was burning in my room here, 
and I warmed my feet and went to bed, to be up early 
this morning and off to the Falls, tired as I was all over 
when I opened my eyes. But I thought I would go, and 
am glad I did. Fine as the sight was, in its way, I am 
glad you did not come, for the weather was awful. The 
wind was terrible. It blew on the Suspension Bridge 
to such an extent that I thought the sleigh, would go 
over. The horses seemed bewildered by it, and stood 
motionless several times. What I saw was a sight not 
to be forgotten, but it is not Niagara as I like to remem- 
ber it. It is too awful, and I much prefer the glory of 
summer flung over it. Winter is to me ghastly and out 
of place over such a spectacle, and I hurried away from 
it unreluctant and gladly. 

" To-morrow I start from this cold country, clad in 
storm, for Pittsburgh and smoke. I shall be at least 
twelve hours on the road, and perhaps twenty, as the 
trains are all obstructed by ice, they say. Everybody is 
furred and freezing in this region. The wind from the 
lake cuts like a scythe. My eyes all day feel like peeled 
substitutes, and I long to exchange them for the old ones 
in Boston. 

" Two young men rode forty miles to hear the lecture 
to-night, and came up on the platform to ask me to 
speak in their town next week. One of them had a face 
of exquisite beauty, and quite touched me by his enthu^ 
siasm. I should like to meet him again, but I cannot 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 237 

go to his place among the Alleghanies. This life of travel 
in cold and solitude is dreadful. It is only for what it 
brings and is necessary, that I would do it any longer. 
The experience on this trip was most dreadful, and I am 
thankful, much as I miss your dear companionship, that 
you were not suffering with me the dreary way. To 
cross the icy platforms from one train to another, and the 
changes are constant, would have exposed you to chills 
you never felt before. The air was full of needles, and 
they filled my lungs till I could feel the blood trickling 
after them. It was infernal. A man told me to-day 
that Boston air in winter was hot compared to the Buf- 
falo atmosphere. 

" And now, God bless you, my love, and keep you safe 
from all harm. Don't be without some one near you, 
to whom you can speak in the night if you wish to. I 
shall try hard to get back for a day between Canons- 
burgh and Rondout, but cannot say now, for I don't 
know the routes. I hope to find a letter at Pittsburgh 
to-morrow." 

From Pittsburgh : — 

" Here I am in this city of smoke, and feeling like a 
lump of soft and smutty coke. I am thankful you did 
not start with me. The journey across here from Buf- 
falo was beyond cursing, and I rejoice you were not here 
to suffer the discomfort all the way. There were no 
drawing-room cars, and the heat and cold were awful 
even for old salts like myself. Twice I became dizzy 
with the suffocating horrors of the stove, and once half 



238 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

chilled to death by a transfer. I got here at midnight, 
and found a room heated to ninety awaiting me, and so 
I scuttled off into a cold one, after warming my feet and 
hands. . . . You can have no notion of the dirt of this 
city. It beats all the English atmospheres I have ever 
seen. London is bright compared to it. To-night I 
speak here ; to-morrow in Canonsburg, and next day I 
start for Philadelphia and New York. Whether I can 
go on home or no before I go to Rondout, I cannot now" 
say, as I don't know the times and seasons yet. But I 
thank Providence you did not attempt this journey. 
You never could have endured the fatigue and no com- 
forts. Nothing to eat between Buffalo and here but the 
steak of wild-cats and tigers. I never saw such meat 
offered to man before. The expense of railroad travel 
is simply monstrous, and the hotel bills are prepos- 
terous." 

Again he writes from a small town on the Hud- 
son River : — 

" I can't help laughing at myself for being here ! Of 
all the god-forsaken places yet, this beats the world. I 
have just been out into the streets to look at my prob- 
able audience, and I wish I had anything bad enough to 
offer them this evening. The men all look like pirates 
on low wages, who, having killed off decent people, have 
the town to themselves, and are now out of employment. 
Hardly a decent woman is to be seen, and the children 
are awful in their ugliness. The views, per contra, are 
glorious. I mounted a hill just now and looked up and 
down the river of ice which sparkled with wonderful 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 239 

beauty. I had to cross from in an ice sledge 

drawn by two horses and filled with market people. 
Coming out of the hot cars after a three hours' ride, and 
getting into the open sledge, was simply suicide to my 
throat, which, with swelling of the glands, punishes me 
for being such a fool as to go round the country in this 
wise." 

Again, after amusing descriptions of people and 
things, he writes from Philadelphia and Balti- 
more : — 

"So much time in the cars destroys me, and I feel 
giddy half the day. I feel as tired and dull as if my 

name were ■ , and I lived in B Street. But I 

must tell you of a young man who called to-night and 
kept me hating him for an hour. He said he belonged 
to one of the oldest families and wanted my advice as to 
his education. He wanted to attach himself to me, he 
said, and be with me constantly. He wished 4 to be car- 
ried up as high as the mind of man could go, to the 
extent of human knowledge.' He brought a pocket 
full of poems he had translated from the German, and 
he troubled and detained me to that extent I could have 
roasted him and then declined to eat him. A letter has 
just been handed in from another young man who wishes 
an interview to-morrow. Another from a youth who 
wishes to give a young lady friend some books to im- 
prove her mind, and I am to select them ! Also notes 
inviting me to dinners, and cards from people with 
strange names ! The lectures are slipping off the string 
and soon all will be over. . . . 



240 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

"I have just written to Redpath to cancel all engage- 
ments in the West from the 10th of February to the 
5th of March. I cannot stand it. Traveling takes all 
vitality out of me, and I do not speak so well and vigor- 
ously as audiences demand in my case. I can't come up 
to expectation after a railroad headache of two or three 
hundred miles daily. . . . This constant call to read 
manuscripts must be crushed out. Yesterday a man sent 
up his card, and from the name I imagined he might be 
some lecture committee, so I said, 4 Let him come up.' 
I sat writing letters, a batch of which comes every day, 
when entered, smiling, a tall, well-dressed chap, who asks 
4 if he can engage me for half an hour.' ' For what pur- 
pose ? ' To read me a poem he had written and get my 
opinion of it ! ! I sent him off, telling him I was hard- 
of-hearing-poems-read. . . . 

" Last night, here in Philadelphia, the rain poured 
and the streets were washed as with a flood, but my 
audience was a beautiful one, both in numbers and qual- 
ity. The night before, in Baltimore, the largest audi- 
ence ever assembled in the Peabody Hall to hear a lec- 
ture crowded the building. Being Thanksgiving night I 
supposed very few would come, but the aisles were full 
and overflowing." 

Again he writes from a college town : — 

" I can't say when I shall return. I find the Faculty 
wish me to give another lecture, and if I don't do it I 
am afraid the course will be incomplete. Last night the 
President gave a levee in the lecturer's honor, a most 
pleasant company. But the plague of the whole thing 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 241 

is that everybody wishes you to do everything : to drive, 
to dine, to sup, to visit halls, to become a member of 
societies, to hear classes recite, and hop about generally. 
This, as you know, I hate ! I have just returned from 
a drive behind two fast trotters, an act for which I de- 
serve to be roasted. I had not the wit to decline the 
invitation, and so I went and nearly froze in my boots. 
It began to snow on the mountain we were to cross, and 
for eight miles I had sleet in my eyes, my nose, my 
mouth, my neck, and everywhere else. How I inwardly 
cursed my fate, albeit the gentleman who drove me was 
most kind and interesting." 

To conclude the extracts from his letters I will 
print here a few of later date, and thus close the 
subject of the lectures out of Boston : — 



" Willi amstown, Mass., Thursday, 1879. 
" All goes well ; grand reception ; great enthusiasm ; 
and crowded chapel. This country is glorious ; T never 
saw anywhere such superb hills, although they are now 
covered with snow. The valley is quite as fine as West- 
moreland vale. The moon came up to-night over Gray- 
lock grandly." 

" Bagg's Hotel, Utica, five degrees below zero, ) 
" Tuesday morning, January 21, 1879. ' 

" Dearest A. : Fine audience ; great enthusiasm ; 
papers all jubilant ; can't reach Potsdam this time I 
think. Mrs. P. of the Seminary is a very exceptional 
lady ; has a grand building full of pupils, and does things 
expensively. She only cares to have her pupils in the 
lecture room. Autograph books flowing in abundantly. 
16 



242 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Invitations ditto. To-night, after the lecture, must at- 
tend, they say, the fashionable club of Utica, at some- 
body's house. Carriages here do not close with doors, 
but only with leather curtains. Would not have come 
if I had known this, darn 'em. But such rivers of kind- 
ness ! Such delightful expressive folk ! 

a To-night at the Seminary again ; to-morrow night at 
the Opera House here, on ' Cheerfulness ; ' next night in 
Brooklyn ; then back here for Clinton, and then toward 
home on Saturday. 

" P. S. This hotel is comfortable, but full of medias- 
val smells. Sometimes I seem to detect older whiffs, as 
if Pharaoh and his host had been dipped up out of the 
Red Sea, and put in pickle, all over these premises. 
Opening a drawer just now I nosed a mummy, or some- 
thing to that effect." 

"Utica, New York, 25th. 

" Clinton insists upon hearing me on Saturday eve- 
ning. So I cannot be home until Sunday P. M., about 
three. 

" Perfectly well, and discontented. 

" Ever yours." 

In the year 1860 Mr. Fields received a cordial 
letter from Charles Cowden Clarke, in reply to a 
wish expressed by him that Mr. Clarke would 
write out his Eecollections of John Keats for the 
" Atlantic Monthly." This letter was the begin- 
ning of a delightful correspondence with Mr. and 
Mrs. Clarke, which has never ceased. 

In 1861 Mr. Clarke wrote : — 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 243 

" As Mr. Montague Tigg would say, 4 There must be 
a screw of enormous magnitude loose somewhere,' or I 
should surely, ere this, have heard something substantial 
and satisfactory of the four-and-twenty numbers of the 
4 Atlantic Monthly.' It is my opinion that you all, on 
the other side of the great water, are in such a ferment 
with your never-ending, still beginning politics ; and 
with your secession and non-secession ; your union and 
separation ; and with your foolish tariff (the free trade 
of France and Belgium, and soon with the kingdom of 
Italy, will make your selfish legislators wise — perhaps 
— in time), all these circumstances have loosened this 
4 enormous screw ' of my monthly Atlantic parcel ; and 
my belief is that the one of your 4 helps,' whose busi- 
ness it is to pack and send out London packages, has 
been attending some Republican meeting, and that the 
twenty-four numbers are now in the packing-room of 
Messrs. Ticknor & Fields ! 

44 1 hope you have received long ere this the manu- 
script of 4 The Cornice in Rain.' . . . 

44 My brother has purchased an estate at Genoa, and 
I dare say my next letter will date from there. My 
address will be 4 Villa Novello, in Corignano, Genoa.' 
When we are settled and at peace (for we are now in 
the turmoil of moving), we will try to think of some 
things we remember in dearly beloved Charles Lamb. 

44 With our kind regards, 

" Yours, my dear Mr. Fields, 

44 Very faithfully, 

44 C. Cowdbn Clarke." 



244 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

This was the first intimation we received of the 
new life of Charles and Mary Cowden Clarke in 
Genoa, at the beautiful Villa Novello, whence let- 
ters full of English literature and Italian landscape 
scenery, during more than twenty years have been 
gratefully received. 

Early in 1877 came the sad news of Mr. Clarke's 
death. In May of that year Mrs. Clarke gener- 
ously wrote : — 

" I despatch by book-post to-day a memorial that I — 
knowing your genial nature and your appreciation of 
that of my beloved husband — feel sure you will like to 
have. It is the original copy of my Charles's first lecture 
on Shakespeare's characters ; one which he most fre- 
quently delivered of all the series. . . . 

" Your tender hearts will take joy to know that mine 
had the comfort of seeing vouchsafed a peaceful close to 
an exceptionally peaceful, happy life ; it was soft and gen- 
tle, a painless and gradual ceasing to breathe, while the 
spring afternoon sunshine streamed in upon us both. 
Thank God, my health never broke down while he was 
ill, so that I was able to be with him hourly, night and 
day, to the very last moment. Patient, contented, placid 
was he throughout, and true to his beautiful, trustful 
nature. His own most characteristic lines, the 4 Hie 
jacet,' from the ' Carmina Minima,' have been inscribed 
on one side of the gravestone, and on the other his chosen 
crest and motto, with simply his beloved name and the 
date of his birth and of his quitting earth. Violets and 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 245 

daisies grew amid the turf near about the spot, that 
March morning when I first looked upon it ; birds and 
bees come there ; the green hills slope up around on 
every side, and all seems to embody the very c cheerful 
quiet ' he himself desired for his resting-place. So many 
years of joy, so many granted mercies, ought to tran- 
quillize me, and fill me only with gratitude ; but you, 
dear friends, will understand the anguish that is mine, 
even when I am most grateful." 

With the date of 1859 I find the first of a series 
of letters also, from Mrs. Lydia Maria Child, which 
lasted to the end of her life. They are full of 
wisdom, wit, and character. She has apparently 
a very slight acquaintance with Mr. Fields at the 
first writing, because she says, after requesting 
him to do her some slight favor in forwarding a 
book to London : — 

" I venture to take this liberty with you in preference 
to any of my relatives or personal friends ; first, because 
I wish to do the thing privately without exciting any 
conversation about it ; and secondly, because your coun- 
tenance gives me the impression that it is a pleasure to 
you to oblige others. Trusting to this assurance, I be- 
lieve you will excuse the freedom I take. 
" And I am very respectfully yours, 

"L. Maria Child." 

In 1863 she writes : — 

" I have a project very much at heart, in which I 
greatly desire your cooperation. In the course of my 



246 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

reading, for several years, I have been collecting articles 
to form a Christmas gift-book for the old. I have a col- 
lection of gems from various sources, English, American, 
French, German, Grecian, Roman, etc., poetry, stories, 
essays, extracts from remarkable sermons, etc. When I 
say gems, I do not, in every instance, mean it in a lit- 
erary point of view, for some of the articles I have se- 
lected are extremely simple in their character, but they 
are all gems in the way of producing a cheerful, elevating 
influence on the minds of the old. They are all calcu- 
lated to make them ' feel chipper,' as the old phrase is. 
I have also written eight or ten articles, which have the 
same character. While tending upon my aged father, I 
greatly felt the want of books serious enough to suit 
him, and yet cheerful. The great fault with all that is 
written or preached to the old is that it is too solemn. 
It is 4 carrying coals to Newcastle,' for the old are too 
prone to take a solemn view of things. 

" I have endeavored to carry out the idea first sug- 
gested to me by my father's wants, and it is a cherished 
wish with me to make this benefaction to the old before 
I die. A great deal depends on the manner of publish- 
ing, and above all publishers in the country you would 
be my choice." 

Again in the same year Mrs. Child says : — 

" I agree with you, that it would not be well to get 
out the book in a hurry, but I cannot deny that I am 
grievously disappointed. This year has been peculiarly 
full of sadness and disappointments. The sudden break- 
ing down of my brother's vigorous health, ending speed- 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 247 

ily in death ; my painful sympathy with the parents of 
Colonel Shaw, the earliest, the latest, the most reliable, 
the best friends of my life ; the destruction of half out- 
house by fire, with the consequent desolation, toil, and 
confusion, continuing up to the present moment, has 
made the year a very dreary one to me ; and the only 
ray of happiness I had was the prospect of sending my 
book round to old acquaintances and friends, with the 
feeling that it may cheer and console their pathway to 
the sunset. 

" But ' what cannot be cured must be endured,' and I 
have become an experimental and practical philosopher 
in that way. 

" I would suggest the propriety of having more than 
one copy in existence. The manuscript is in the prin- 
ter's hands, and if it should be consumed by fire, it 
would be a tedious and difficult process for me to restore 
it. In view of the uncertainty of human life, I would 
also suggest the propriety of having some contract signed. 
The book is so nearly printed, would it not be best to 
finish setting it up, and let it all stand in type ? Then 
the manuscript might be preserved in another place. 

" When I come to Boston, I will try to see you for a 
few minutes. We have so many workmen here, with 
piles of bricks and boards, and no pair of hands but 
my own to provide for them, that I cannot at present 
appoint a time, with any certainty of keeping my prom- 
ise. Yours very cordially, 

"L. Maria Child." 

The next year she writes : — 

" I used to begin with Dear sir, now Dear Mr. Fields 



248 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

has slipped from my pen ; perhaps the next thing will 
be Dear Friend. The length of our acquaintance hardly 
warrants it, but it would be only the spontaneous ex- 
pression of my feelings ; so, if it should so happen, you 
will not perhaps consider me obtrusive. . . . 

" There is good taste in the suggestion about the title- 
page. My favorite red letters would need a florid, me- 
dieval vignette. They would pale Darley's vignette too 
much. They would be like a trumpet accompaniment 
to ' John Anderson, my Jo.' I am sorry to give them 
up, but I see that it is fitting. 

" I take infinite satisfaction in looking at my photo- 
graph of Thorwaldsen's Winter. Thank you a thousand 
times for it. I have very little opportunity to see works 
of art, and my passion for them no amount of years or 
discouragements can chill. 

" With kindest remembrance to Mrs. Fields, I am 
most cordially yours, L. Maria Child." 

In one of her notes she says : — 

" My sympathies tend as inevitably toward the masses 
as Willis's do toward the i upper ten.' I have not the 
slightest talent for respectability. ... I send a copy 
of ' The New Flowers for Children,' which you can trans- 
fer to some little friend, when you have read it. I send 
it, because I want you to read ' The Royal Rose-Bud, ' 
founded on exceedingly slight hints in history. All who 
write con amore, as I must do if I write at all, are ex- 
tremely pleased, I suppose, with everything they write 
at the moment of writing. At least that is the case with 
me. But very few pieces continue to be favorites. I 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 249 

grow indifferent to most things I have written, and have 
a decided distaste for some, but ' The Royal Rose-Bud ' 
is a permanent favorite with me, therefore I want you to 
read it. Cordially yours, 

"L. Maria Child." 

In 1866 she continues : — 

" I should have more heart for work, if that tipsy 
tailor were not so misguiding the ship of State. To 
have for captain, in a storm, a man not fit for a cabin 
boy! 

" I feel very anxious and despondent about the pros- 
pects of my poor proteges, the freedmen. There was 
such a capital chance to place the Republic on a safe and 
honorable foundation, and we have lost it, by the narrow 
prejudices and blind self-will of that 4 poor white ! ' 

" Well, we need more suffering for our sins, and if it 
were not that the poor blacks have the most of the suf- 
fering, I could bow my head in patient resignation. 
"I am very cordially your friend, 

"L. Maria Child." 

In 1867 she says : — 

" After you have read my manuscript I should like to 
have you write a few lines, to inform me whether you 
think the old woman's imagination needs ' the prayers 
of the congregation, being in a very weak and low con- 
dition.' " 

" Wayland, February 27, 1873. 

"Dear Mr. Fields: What bird of the air sung to 
you that I alighted on this planet the 11th of February ? 
If any one whom I like knows it, I am particularly grati- 



250 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

fied to have them remember it. But I never imagined 
that you knew the date of my advent. To be remem- 
bered by one's friends at Christmas and New Years' time 
is pleasant enough, but everybody is remembered then ; 
but to send tokens of remembrance on a birthday, that is 
something delightfully complimentary and exclusive. It 
is, in fact, my pet weakness. I have never, you know, 
outgrown my first childhood, and it will probably re- 
main till I enter upon my second. I exult and crow over 
a birthday present from any friend, or congenial ac- 
quaintance, as a two-year-old does over a new pair of red 
shoes." 

This series of extracts from Mrs. Child's letters 
may fitly close with a tiny note written after Mr. 
Fields ceased to be a publisher of books : — 

"Dear Mr. Fields: Thanks for your note, giving 
fresh indication of your kind interest in my little book. 
I feel the more grateful to you, because I have no hus- 
band or son, brother or nephew, to care for my success, 
and I have lived so much apart from the world, that no 
circle or sect is in communion with me. This is a state 
of things uncomfortably lonely, though highly favorable 
to independence of thought. 

" I have written with a conscientious wish to help on 
the progress of the world, but whether any considerable 
number of people want such help, remains to be proved. 
It is a mere lottery. If the publishers do not lose by it, 
I shall be satisfied. 

" Gratefully and cordially yours, 

"L. Maria Child." 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 251 

In narrating the occupations and sequence of 
the years I have omitted any list of Mr. Fields's 
published books. I have mentioned that in the 
autumn of 1870 he was relieved from the cares of 
business, and it was in the following autumn that 
his first book, " Yesterdays with Authors," made its 
appearance. The cordial welcome this first ven- 
ture received was a great pleasure ; indeed, the 
book gave him a double happiness, first, in the 
doing, because the nature of its pages was like a 
renewal of old companionships rather than a labor, 
and second, in its hearty reception. In 1881 the 
book had passed through twenty editions. 

To the completion of " Yesterdays with Au- 
thors," succeeded the work of writing and deliv- 
ering the twenty-seven lectures, to which we have 
already referred elsewhere. 

In the year 1877 he printed a collection of his 
brief papers in prose, under the title of u Under- 
brush." Of this little volume a new and enlarged 
edition was printed in 1881. In the autumn of 
1878 appeared "The Family Library of British 
Poetry," the joint labor of Mr. Whipple and Mr. 
Fields, a book which has no rival of its size, num- 
berless as are the collections of poetry. Finally, in 
1881, under similar title, was published a thin vol- 
ume, entitled " Ballads and other Verses/' which 
did not fail to attract a large company of readers. 



252 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Grave and gay, old and young, wished to possess 
themselves of its contents, and "its excuse for 
being " was derived through public as well as 
private avenues. 

Meanwhile the old habit of writing, more or 
less, for public journals, and private clubs and 
companies, was never altogether relinquished. He 
was one of the contributors to the " Youth's Com- 
panion," where he printed a long list of papers 
especially prepared to interest children in litera- 
ture. Among the subjects treated in this manner 
I find Audubon, Tennyson, Washington Irving, 
Charles Dickens, Charles Lamb, Wordsworth, Tom 
Hood, Walter Scott, Mrs. Browning, Adelaide 
Procter, Thomas Campbell, Nathaniel Hawthorne, 
Macaulay, W. H. Prescott, Leigh Hunt, Miss Mit- 
ford, and " A Group of Famous American Au- 
thors." The editors of this paper continually 
proved the value they set upon his work, by their 
eager acceptance of whatever he would choose to 
send them. In this little paper also were printed 
many of his verses which he chose not to include 
in his last volume. I venture to preserve two 
stanzas, which should not be lost : — 

" When the wind is blowing fair, 
Any ship to port may steer; 
Prows that head-seas bravely dare, 
Master fate and conquer fear. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 253 

" Souls that, freed from prison bars, 

Struck the blows themselves that won, — 
Grappling with their evil stars, 
Stand, like Uriel, in the sun ! " 

It would be useless to try to trace his scattered 
literary productions. Mention has been made of 
the most important. It is interesting, however, 
to recall, with all his industry and achievement, 
how impossible it was to make him feel as if he 
were interrupted when he was at work. He was 
ready for others if he were wanted, and it was 
always somebody else who said he was busy; he 
seldom made the excuse for himself. This record 
has, however, failed of its purpose if it has not 
been able to convey, otherwise than by mere 
words, the generosity, kindness, justice, and self- 
poise which characterized him. Many tributes to 
his generosity and kindness lie around me, but 
to make evident that these qualities were the 
every-day atmosphere of his life, is far more im- 
portant than to be able to recall a generous deed 
or a kind word which misrht be set down here. 
Of the joyousness and elasticity of his nature, 
tempered by his other qualities, we are reminded 
by a verse from William Blake : — 

"He who bends to his life a joy, 
Does the winged life destroy; 
But he who kisses the joy as it flies, 
Lives in eternity's sunrise." 



254 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

Of his helpfulness the world has often spoken, 
but it may not be out of place to say, that if 
money were to be taken in charge for aunts or 
cousins, James was the person called upon. If 
New York editors wished a new man for some im- 
portant post, they would send for Mr. Fields's 
advice and suggestion. Public readers would come 
to rehearse their parts, and learn what to read as 
well as how to read ; young lecturers with their 
lectures ; graduates, girls and boys, to know what 
to do next in life ; and of authors and their manu- 
scripts, as I have before said, he was never free. 
His judgment and good sense were as sure and as 
swift as his sympathy. 

Mr. Fields had not the time, or perhaps lacked 
the inclination, to make extracts from books for 
his own use. His memory was so faithful a ser- 
vant that he generally knew where to find any 
passage which had once impressed itself upon his 
mind ; but, long before Mr. Bartlett's excellent 
book of " Familiar Quotations " was published, Mr. 
Fields had printed a sheet of four pages for the con- 
venience of replying to the many persons who 
were constantly sending to him to find the origin 
of certain much quoted passages. 

There is a large volume, however, which was 
a kind of common repository for such things as we 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 255 

feared might slip away from us, on the fly-leaf of 
which he inscribed the following motto : — 

This is the coin that ne'er grows light in use, 
The gold that oftenest handled brighter glows. 

Old Play. 

Between the two covers lies a kind of epitome 
of the books we enjoyed, more or less together, 
during the last fifteen years of his life. Here, 
beside the sifted gold of literature, I find occa- 
sional quotations from conversation. In one place, 

" Agassiz says that the world, in dealing with a new 
truth, passes through three stages. First, saying that it 
is not true ; second, that it is contrary to religion ; third, 
that it was known before." 

" Kingsley said one night, if he could have but one 
book for the rest of his life, he should choose the ■ Faerie 
Queene ' above all and without hesitation ; nothing so 
rested him and took him out of himself." 

"Brooklyn, N. Y., 1874. 

" Every attention is paid here to Mr. Fields. The 
people appear truly delighted with his lectures. One 
old lady, seeing the pleasure he felt in receiving some 
flowers, said : ' There ! I might have brought you my 
hyacinth. I have one growing out of a sponge, which I 
planted in the autumn ; 't is just in perfection now. I 
wish I had brought it ! ' " 

One night while Dickens was in America, after 
a reading, as we sat at supper together, J., in his 
own laughing way, and partly to excite Dickens 



256 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

to repeat a certain passage in the evening's per- 
formance, began by giving a portion of it himself. 
" That's it," said Dickens though tfully, yet half 
laughing, " my dear boy, you '11 be doing it your- 
self some day." 

" New York, Sunday, March 8. 

" Mr. Bryant said this afternoon, that no one could 
impress upon the people of this country so well as Mr. 
Fields the value and importance of the study of English 
literature. Also, that no one can know more than one 
language thoroughly well." 

Sydney Smith's " Lectures on Moral Philoso- 
phy," was a favorite book of Mr. Fields, and I 
find several passages quoted from it, especially a 
fine one on the use of history, concluding with 
these words : " For the object of common men is 
only to live. The object of such men as I have 
spoken of was to live grandly, and in favor with 
their own difficult spirits ; to live, if in war, glori- 
ously ; if in peace, usefully, justly, and freely." 
Among contemporary writers he read everything 
of Mr. Froude's with the deepest interest, and I 
find many traces of his books among these quota- 
tions. 

A quatrain, quoted by Dr. Johnson, and said by 
him to have been written by an obscure poet, a 
clergyman by the name of Gifford, was a favorite 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 257 

of Mr. Fields. The poem to which this quatrain 
was said to belong has never been discovered : — 

" Verse sweetens toil, however rude the sound ; 
All at her work the village maiden sings ; 
Nor while she turns the giddy wheel around, 
Revolves the sad vicissitude of things." 

I also find the following : — 

" Quillinan writes to H. Crabbe Robinson (and Mr. 
Fields possesses something of the same feeling), ' I will 
not reveal to you, for you could not comprehend, my 
idolatry of Pope from my boyhood,' etc." * 

" Finished ' Life of Lord Jeffrey.' How often lately 
we have said what I find set down here, ' The best use 
of going abroad is to make one fond of home.' " 

Again : — 

"Nothing shows Boyfchorn in more brilliant or en- 
chanting colors than his declaration, with tremendous 
emphasis, that he had never in his life regretted any- 
thing so much as his having failed to carry out his in- 
tention of purchasing that house, 35 St. James Square, 
Bath, where the first idea of i Little Nell ' came to Dick- 
ens in one of his birthday visits to London with Forster, 
' and then and there to have burned it to the ground, to 
the end that no meaner association should ever desecrate 
the birthplace of " Little Nell." ' " 

The following parody was also preserved by me 
in these pages : — 

1 See page 222, vol. iii. 
17 



258 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 



LINES ON FINDING A WATCHMAN SOUND ASLEEP AT MIDNIGHT 
ON MY DOORSTEPS. 

J. T. F. 

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, 
By all the city-rascals blest ! 
When Night, with snowy fingers cold, 
Returns to freeze the watery mould, 
She there shall meet a sounder sod, 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fire-y hands our knell is rung, 

By forms unseen our locks are sprung ; 

There burglars come, — black, white, and gray, — 

To bless the steps that wrap their clay : 

While watchmen do awhile repair, 

And dwell, like sleeping hermits, there. 

See Collins's Ode. 

Again, the following quotation to recall an ex- 
cursion to the hills : — 

"Plymouth, N. H., June, 1872. 
" Arrived there the little house they fill, 

Ne look for entertainment where none was; 

Rest is their feast, and all things at their will; 

The noblest mind the best contentment has. 

Spenser's Faerie Queene, Canto I." 

One of the pleasures of Mr. Fields's life thus 
far unmentioned was in listening to music. Few 
persons, themselves unskilled in the art, ever found' 
so keen enjoyment in or comprehended better the 
best work of the best artists. That unusual pleas- 
ure, in the library of a man of letters, of hearing 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 259 

fine music, was often enjoyed in his. No one could 
take greater pride and satisfaction in the success 
of any new performance or special musical event 
than he. He lost many public occasions for listen- 
ing to music from fatigue or preoccupation ; but 
his delight in the neighborhood and friendship of 
one of Germany's most distinguished musicians, 
and his enjoyment while hearing him play in pri- 
vate, must be a compensation to recall among the 
many dissatisfactions attending any musical ca- 
reer. 

" I would rather be a fine tenor singer," he 
used to say, "than anything else in the world." 

He possessed the power of attuning the musi- 
cians themselves, which is so seldom seen. A mo- 
ment appointed for music seems sometimes alien 
to the mood, unapt things are said or done, and 
everything drifts away from the musical atmos- 
phere ; but he could always bring the circle round 
with a natural ease both reassuring and stimulat- 
ing. 

His musical friends who must miss henceforth 
his " fine ear," will recognize the truth of these 
words, and will remember his gratitude for the 
pleasure they generously gave him. 

Among the published tributes to Mr. Fields, I 
would place first the following extract from a dis- 
course by his friend Dr. C. A. Bartol : — 



260 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" Having known him well for forty years, and lived 
with him summer after summer in the same house, I 
must swear I have not known a better tempered man, 
. . . but whoever suspected he would lack nerve made a 
great mistake." 

From the tender and discerning words of Miss 
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, printed in the " New 
York Independent," I quote as follows : — 

" Of all men whom I have known, he was one of the 
most heartily and humanly helpful. "Whether this was 
instinct, or acquisition, or both, I cannot say (in no re- 
spect do natures differ more than in the naturalness with 
which they lend a hand) ; but it was, at least, habitual 
and thorough. Those who think of him chiefly in the 
glitter of life, in the foam of things, doing what it was 
pleasant to do, receiving what was more blessed than 
giving, and giving what was better than receiving, know 
not of whom they speak. The scholar, the wit, the 
author, the host who rested his guest, the guest whom 
everybody wanted, the friend of distinguished men and 
women, the patron of struggling talent, the recipient and 
the bestower of select inspirations — all this he was. He 
had life's fine wine ; but he was and had because he 
earned and held. He was not one of the rose-wrapped, 
predestined sybarites. He got his good things, as Lady 
Holland once said, with her haughty smile, of the Order 
of the Garter, i by deserving ' them. . . . 

" It was a phase of his essential fidelity of nature which 
gave him so marked a usefulness among the men who 
have had the graver interests of women very near at 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 261 

heart. His real chivalry surpassed that of almost any 
man I ever knew. He could not, even after his illness, 
ask a servant to help him on with his coat without a 
beautiful accent, like a deferent regret. She was a 
woman ; he would have spared her. . . . 

" I have wished that men who regard irritability of 
temper as a man's, and especially a literary man's pre- 
rogative, could have sat at his feet and learned how 
manly it is to be agreeable at home. All the genial, 
loyal, unselfish qualities in Mr. Fields struck through. 
They had the penetrative character of what are called 
the ' honest colors ' in a dye." 

Mr. S. C. Hall sent the following touching trib- 
ute from England : — 

" I learn with deep sorrow the departure from earth 
life of a most excellent and estimable man, when it 
would seem to us his long career of usefulness might have 
been largely extended — even to an age such as mine — 
just eighty-one years ! He had done his work well, and 
has his reward among 4 good and faithful servants.' 

" But the loss is a loss to all human kind ; to his own 
great country first, but as certainly to ours. I can do 
little or nothing but honor his memory, and grieve that 
I have lost a valuable and valued friend. But it cannot 
be a far time hence when I shall see him again. 

" I receive this day a letter written by him dated 
April 17. 

" I do not postpone the sad but solemn duty of writin.g 
to whoever may be his representatives, praying God to 
console and comfort those who remain after him, to con- 
tinue a weary pilgrimage on earth. 



262 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

" For myself, I am waiting but yearning for the call 
that shall be a summons to join my beloved wife ; to be 
with her as I know she is with me. 

" May God in his goodness and mercy give to those I 
address the light He has given to me. 

"S. C. Hall. 

"To the Family of James T. Fields." 

Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote privately of 
Mr. Fields (and I trust he and other friends, 
whose letters may be quoted, will forgive this 
public recognition of the value set upon their af- 
fectionate words) : — 

" The regrets of multitudes of friends, more than you 
can hear or know of, have followed the departing spirit 
of him who has left us, and their deep silent sympathy 
abides with you. How many writers know, as I have 
known, his value as a literary counsellor and friend ! 
His mind was as hospitable as his roof, which has ac- 
cepted famous visitors and quiet friends alike as if it had 
been their own. From a very early period in my own 
life of authorship, I have looked to Mr. Fields as one 
who would be sure to take an interest in whatever I 
wrote, to let me know all that he could learn about my 
writings which would please and encourage me, and 
keep me in heart for new efforts. And what I can say 
for myself many and many another can say with equal 
truth. Yery rarely, if ever, has a publisher enjoyed the 
confidence and friendship of so wide and various a circle 
of authors. And so when he came to give the time to 
authorship, which had always for many years been de- 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 263 

voted to literature, he found a listening and reading pub- 
lic waiting for him and welcoming him." 

Mr. Richard H. Dana wrote from Rome, May, 
1881: — 

"It is chiefly with my father, after all, that I connect 
my memories of Mr. Fields. To him he was always 
faithful, kind, considerate, and attentive. 

" Manchester-by-the-Sea became a new place after he 
made it his summer home. The sight of him walking 
over by the beach or the pasture, or driving up the 
avenue in his basket phaeton, was an assurance of enjoy- 
ment, an enjoyment with this characteristic, — that it 
demanded nothing of my father. It all came from the 
full, the overflowing resources of the guest, so cordial, 
so affectionate, so encouraging to a man of my father's 
temperament and habits. . . . 

" Who has left so many friends to mourn him ? Who 
has given so much pleasure to his friends while he was 
with them ? He was greatly blessed in nature and tem- 
per, and he faithfully made the utmost of his gifts for 
the advantage of all others." 

The Governor of our Commonwealth, John D. 
Long, wrote to express his sense of public as well 
as private loss ; also, the President of Boston Uni- 
versity ; and the President of Cornell University, 
then our minister at Berlin, Andrew D. White. 
Mr. White says : — 

" My memories of Mr. Fields are among my cherished 
possessions. During my early professorial days he was 



264 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

exceedingly kind to me, giving himself trouble to smooth 
my path at home and abroad, and just at the time when 
such kindness was most valuable to me. Without ex- 
aggeration, most of the greatest social enjoyments I have 
had are certainly those to which he gave me access in 
Boston, Nahant, London, and elsewhere. 

" I also owe him deep gratitude for daring, in the old 
days of subserviency to the slave power, to publish arti- 
cles which other editors dared not touch. . . . Winning 
and devoted as Fields was, it was not that which bound 
me to him most. I always found in him a real noble- 
ness of heart, a deep wish to help on whatever of good 
or true he found militant in the world. Let any appeal 
to his deeper feelings come, and all that wonderful play- 
fulness upon the surface disappeared in a moment." 

The Boston booksellers and publishers gave a 
united and heartfelt tribute to his memory, and 
Mr. James R. Osgood wrote privately : — 

" In view of my long and invariably pleasant associa- 
tion with Mr. Fields, I cannot forbear telling you how 
grateful a sense I have of my many obligations to him, 
and how tender a place he will always hold in my 
memory." 

Mr. Alden, editor of " Harper s Monthly Maga- 
zine/' wrote : — 

" The Messrs. Harper desire me to express their sense 
of the great loss sustained by American literature in the 
departure of one who, as author and publisher, contrib- 
uted so much to its excellence, and to its good repute at 
home and abroad." 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 265 

Also, in expressing his own feeling of personal 
loss, Mr. Alden writes : — 

"Into the darkest hour of ray life he came giving light 
and hope. I can never forget it. Turning to him first 
because I found help in him — how much else I found ! 
Only those who knew him nearly knew his goodness and 
his greatness." 

Robert Collyer wrote : — 

" He was the dearest friend I had on earth outside my 
home. ... I have been thinking of the great host of men 
and women to whom he was as sunshine and as all that 
is most welcome in our human life. . . . We are all rich 
through the treasure he gave us out of his heart, the 
great, gentle, sunny heart which was so true. The work 
he has done in this world is quite unique and all good. 
We cannot say better of it than time will say. Just 
such a man was needed, and needed just where he was 
and when he came. God's blessing be forever on him 
for his work's sake." 

George Macdonald said, writing from Casa Co- 
raggio, Italy : — 

" He was so good to me and mine that from afar I 
can understand something of his loss. ... I know, I 
will not say knew, and love, I will not say loved him." 

Mrs. H. P. Spofford wrote : — 

" His nature was like heaven's sunbeams, — a satisfac- 
tion and a delight. I loved him with a grateful heart, 
for he was a part of happy youth to me, a bright im- 



266 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

mortal shape in my memory of those days of his exceed- 
ing kindness, whose going never seemed possible." 

Mr. Howells wrote : — 

" Perhaps I have never told you, and may fitly tell 
you here now, how affectionately and with what unal- 
loyed gratitude I have constantly remembered my con- 
nection with him. A look or word of depreciation from 
him would have made me very unhappy, in the place I 
held under him ; but in all the years I was with him, I 
had nothing but delicate kindness from him — forbear- 
ance where I failed, and generous praise where he 
thought I succeeded in my work. ... I shall cherish 
the recollection of the little half hour he spent with me 
in the reception room, that night, before he felt able to 
go up-stairs. . . . He would not let me feel heavy or 
sad about him. He was still as he always has been, — - 
the genius of cheerful hospitality. There is no one left 
like him ! " 

Mr. Thomas Wentworth Higginson says : — 

" I shall always feel that I was under great obligations 
to him at a most important time in my life. He was 
the best and most sympathetic literary counselor I ever 
had; and I had much opportunity to observe his con- 
stant kindnesses to others." 

Rev. M. D. Conway wrote from London : — 

" But a few evenings ago Julian Hawthorne was here, 
and in speaking of Mr. Fields said, ' whom my father so 
much loved.' I had just received, also, a note from Mrs. 
Procter, in which she spoke of your husband among her 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 267 

American friends. I, too, have been proud to call my- 
self his friend, and of what literary contemporary of his 
was he not the best and faithfullest friend." 

Mr. Whipple wrote privately : — 

" I love him very deeply now, as I loved him when I 
was a lad of nineteen." 

Joaquin Miller wrote : — 

" While many stood nearer to you and yours, few, if 
any, admired or looked up to Mr. Fields more earnestly 
than I. . . . How much better he left this world than he 
found it ! How many a heart was made lighter, happier, 
each year of his manhood all men know. This vast 
West world is a great deal better and wiser because he 
has been. Think how few can have this said of us when 
all is over, work with all endeavor as we may ! To me 
Mr. Fields's life seemed the most rounded and perfect of 
all men's I ever met. Very beautiful he seemed to me 
in soul and body, and people loved him truly. How I 
shall always remember that evening in Philadelphia : the 
President, the Emperor, the strength, and the beauty of 
this new world ! " 

Mr. Edward Lear, writing from San Remo, Italy, 
said : — 

" I used to think, years ago, if anything could prevail 
on me to cross to America, it would be that I should 
there see James T. Fields." 

Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney writes : — 

" I must, for myself , always remember the early wel- 
come your husband gave me when I had just come to 
his knowledge as a new worker in letters." 



268 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

And Mrs. Procter, writing from London, said : — 

" I think you both knew how great a regard my hus- 
band had for yours, — what merry days they had to- 
gether. ... I was this morning reading his paper, 
4 Leigh Hunt in Elysium,' where he speaks of my dear 
Adelaide — so kindly — as he always did of all." 

It will be seen that only those brief passages 
have been selected from these letters which bear 
testimony to the character we have been consid- 
ering. 

Another volume would be required to contain 
the words of sympathy and consolation, expressed 
in every beautiful form the human heart can sug- 
gest, which his friends poured out. The following 
sonnet, of unusual beauty and significance, from 
Parke Godwin, must not, however, be omitted : — 

"I cannot wish thee comfort in this hour 

Of life's supremest sorrow; for I know, 
By aching memories, how little power 

The best words have to mitigate a woe, 
With which, in its own bitterness alone, 

The heart, amid the silences, must deal. 
But here, where ocean makes eternal moan 

Along its melancholy shores, I feel 
How mightier than nature's loudest voice 

Is that soft word, which to the ruler said, 
Amidst his desolated home, ' Rejoice ! 

Thy dear one sleepeth : think not he is dead : ' 
All death is birth, from out a turbid night, 
Into the glories of transcendent light." 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 269 

In the month of May, 1879, after a winter of 
many lectures, Mr. Fields went to Wellesley Col- 
lege one evening to fulfill an engagement. He 
was to reach home at eleven p. m., and a cheerful 
supper was awaiting his arrival. The hour for 
his return came and went, when a telegram was 
brought summoning me to his side. About mid- 
night I reached the college. He had received 
every possible attention, but I saw that a violent 
hemorrhage from the head had startled every- 
body. He was very weak, a little incoherent, and 
indisposed to sleep. The next morning, a beau- 
tiful Sunday morning, with the consent of the 
physicians, who did not fear relapse from such an 
effort, we drove home to Boston, and in a few 
days, as soon as he was strong enough, removed 
to our cottage at Manchester. The night of our 
arrival, soon after midnight, he was wakened by a 
return of the hemorrhage. All ordinary methods 
of stopping the blood were ineffectual, and great 
loss and weakness were the result. Day after day 
the hemorrhage returned, after the slightest exer- 
tion, until the physicians prescribed entire quiet 
and forbade him to be moved. During the month 
or six weeks of his confinement no one entered 
his room, except the physician and very rarely a 
servant. 

I look back with peculiar pleasure to those 



270 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

days ! He was seldom tired of being read to, and 
during the long hours of June, from morning until 
dusk, which did not fall early on that beautiful 
hilltop, I read to him things old and new, poetry, 
essays, and occasionally a story of Thackeray or 
George Eliot. I can recall one morning when the 
pulse of life was very low, how the music and sig- 
nificance of Milton's Allegro and Penseroso seemed 
to take " a sober coloring," and to swing with 
slow and solemn roar through the chambers of the 
brain as it never had done before. It chimed and 
rang with an immortal melody through a mist of 
tears. And so the days wore on, and called him 
back to me with a sense of divine and eternal 
nearness we never had before. 

Of this period I feel as Maurice de Guerin has 
said : — 

" Apres le bonheur de mourir avant ceux que l'on 
aime je ne connais rien qui marque plus la faveur du 
ciel que d'etre admis au chevet d'un ami mourant, de 
le suivre jusqu' ou l'on peut aller avec lui dans l'ombre 
de la mort. de s'initier a moitie au mystere profond dans 
lequel il disparait, de lever sur son visage des empreintes 
fideles et incorruptibles, de se former enfin un tre"sor de 
douleurs et de pense"es secretes, qui pnisse fournir a 
l'e*tendre de la plus longue vie." 

The autumn found Mr. Fields restored, but in 
a delicate condition, which no one outside of his 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 271 

home could understand. He looked in perfect 
health, but his nerves could no longer bear any 
strain ; therefore it was not a surprise when, in 
the midst of his Boston lectures in 1880, he was 
again attacked with the old trouble. This time it 
was less alarming ; partly because no painful meas- 
ures were taken to stop the bleeding, and partly 
because we were assured that more dangerous 
trouble was thus averted. Again, in the spring, 
he returned to his beloved home at Manchester. 
" I like to think," he said, " that I have paid for 
everything about this place by my lectures." He 
here passed his longest, and I believe one of the 
happiest summers of his -life, though he suffered 
from attacks of pain in the chest if he took any 
exercise more severe than walking on level ground. 
For five or six years he had found himself subject 
to this pain at times after climbing or walking in 
the wind, and used to complain occasionally of 
feeling as if his voice were " cut off " when he 
was lecturing. 

In the autumn and winter of 1880-1881, Mr. 
Fields continued to speak in Boston and vicinity 
as usual. His lectures in town were more crowded 
than ever, and as they drew near the close an 
appeal was made to him to repeat them. The 
temptation was great, it was an agreeable occupa- 
tion for him, and required less strength than many 



272 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 

other things, but he was easily dissuaded from it, 
and the wisdom of the advice appeared, alas, only 
too soon ! One night of January, after a cold day 
and some little exertion, he was awakened by the 
terrible pain well known to physicians as Angina 
Pectoris, or the Breast Pang, and at intervals until 
the final attack, nearly four months later, he was 
subject to this suffering. 

Again great quiet was prescribed, and during 
all these months he saw very few persons. The 
moment he could get any respite from suffering 
he liked to have me read to him. It could not be 
said of him, — 

He had " no minutes breathing space allowed, 
To nurse his dwindling faculty of joy," 

for this power grew day by day to the very end. 
Old favorites were the books he chiefly desired. 
Charles Lamb was re-read with undiminished de- 
light, and " Southey's Life of Nelson," and in his 
restless uncomfortable moments, or when I was 
called away, he would amuse himself with " Mark 
Twain in Switzerland and Germany." Montaigne 
was one of his prime favorites, and we re-read 
nearly the whole of it. Indeed, to recount that 
reading, would be to enumerate a small library, 
for he slept very little, seldom or never fairly 
lying down again upon his bed, and the long hours 
were conjured out of something of their suffering 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 



273 



by these beloved companions. " Carlyle's Remi- 
niscences " was one of the latest books we read 
together, and Forster's " Life of Dickens " was the 
last book he laid down. " It does not require any 
effort, and I love to recall him," he said to me. 

Sunday evening, April 24, 1881, a little excite- 
ment in the street caused another severe attack of 
pain, from which he recovered only to fall into 
the eternal sleep. His face wore unchanged the 
calm expression native to it in those later days. 

His body lies at Mount Auburn, " the sepulchre, 
oh, not of him, but of our joy ! " 

Yet as a traveler on some forsaken road sees 
the light of the city whither he is bound glimmer 
before him on the distant hillside, so the light of 
vanished eyes "beacons from the abode where the 
eternal are." 



It is written in the Holy Word : 

"At evening time there shall be light. 1 



18 



274 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES 



AUF WIEDERSEHEN. 

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW IN MEMORY OF JAMES T. FIELDS. 

Until we meet again ! That is the meaning 
Of the familiar words, that men repeat 

At parting in the street. 
Ah yes, till then ! but when death intervening 
Rends us asunder, with what ceaseless pain 

We wait for thee again ! 

The friends who leave us do not feel the sorrow 
Of parting, as we feel it, who must stay- 
Lamenting day by day, 
And knowing, when we wake upon the morrow, 
We shall not find in its accustomed place 
The one beloved face. 

It were a double grief, if the departed, 
Being released from earth, should still retain 

A sense of earthly pain ; 
It were a double grief, if the true-hearted, 
Who loved us here, should on the farther shore 

Remember us no more. 

Believing, in the midst of our afflictions, 
That death is a beginning, not an end, 

We cry to them, and send 
Farewells, that better might be called predictions, 
Being foreshadowings of the future, thrown 

Into the vast Unknown. 



AND PERSONAL SKETCHES. 275 

Faith overleaps the confines of our reason, 
And if by faith, as in old times was said, 

Women received their dead 
Raised up to life, then only for a season 
Our partings are, nor shall we wait in vain 

Until we meet again ! 



